Damnation
by waveformdelta84
Summary: Being a hero always carries a price, but Terry McGinnis has avoided paying...until now. Strong language.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes:

Any story begins at the beginning. This one is no different.

But a beginning is really just an illusion...a fiction, if you will. There are things that have already happened, and the story risks losing its shape without that knowledge.

So to clarify: this story is set approximately a year after the events of _Revenge Of The Joker_, a month or so into the first semester of Terry's senior year of high school, with all the events presented in the cartoon in the immediate past.

I should also point out that I have tried as much as possible to stay true to what was presented in the show; but this story was conceived almost five years ago, which means that certain events we have since learned about Terry McGinnis' future weren't known as it took its basic shape. I chose to keep it as it is--what we see in the _Justice League Unlimited_ episode "Epilogue" doesn't really change anything for my own little imagining. Still, if you find that this story doesn't quite fit what you know about Terry's world, feel free to just consider this an alternate future (and isn't that what any story is, in the end?)

This story involves a considerable amount of angst on the part of its characters. I hope this won't turn you away, but I figured I should tell you up front what you're in for.

And finally, I wouldn't feel right if I didn't point out that this story would not exist without the hard work of the people who created this imagined world we fans all share (and, to be fair, have a more legitimate legal claim on that world than any of us): Kane, Finger, Dini, Timm, Burnett, and so many others. I can only hope I've written something worthy of their labors and their love. But most of all, I hope I do well for you, the people who love this show as I do.

Alright. Enough stuff that isn't a story. Let us begin at the beginning...

_There's a great text in Galatians,  
Once you trip on it, entails  
Twenty-nine distinct damnations,  
One sure, if another fails._

--Robert Browning, "Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister"

**Damnation**

**A Batman Beyond Fanfiction**

by Waveform Delta

She walked through the graveyard.

It was cold. It was dark. It was like any number of graveyards anywhere else in Gotham, anywhere else in the world, but this is the one she was in, tonight.

As graveyards go, this was a big one, massive in fact. There were people buried here from the last century, not so very far away, and from the century before that, which was much further. And the century before that, further away still. And the one before even that.

She knew none of this. Or perhaps she knew, realized in some objective part of her mind that it must be true, but did not care. There was one person buried here that she cared about, and one person only. All the others did not matter.

And so she walked by them, the markers of lives now slipped away. _Abrahamson, Selkirk, Fredrickson, James_. Some were ornate and some were simple. Some were small and some were large. _Cook, Kirby, Addams, Sumlin, Lagny_. Some were well tended, their plots showing the tender ministrations of loved ones. Some were neglected, bereft of any care, almost forlorn in their poverty of attention. _Franklin, Marcus, Rateliff, Johannson, Czetcglaw, Bricklin_.

She continued her silent journey into another part of the cemetery, where there were mausoleums and massive stones, markers of people who had apparently been among the privileged in life. _Dijkestra, Arnold, Gonzalez, Martin, Townshend, Bruckner, Wayne, Conlan, Burke, Cane, Killian, Fox, Gregory_. She walked on by. She would not find the marker she was looking for here.

Her journey continued. Now the headstones grew smaller again, but fresher. Not from tender care, but because they were new. _Ardent, Williamson, Joyce, Draken, Theodore._

Finally she was before the headstone for which she had been searching. It was night, but the moon was large on the horizon, and the sky cloudless, and she could easily read the plain stone, bearing a only a name.

_Delia Dennis_

For a long while, she simply gazed at the marker. It was night, and there was no one to disturb her. Finally, she set the bouquet of roses she cradled against her chest at the foot of the stone. Her eyes were wet, but there were no tears in her fierce whisper.

"I know why you're here, sister. It's _his_ fault. It's because of him you're dead. I should have been there. I should have protected you. Now it's too late."

At this, her voice cracked, and she paused to rub her eye with the heel of her hand, and recovered herself. "But he won't get away with it," she continued. "You were right. You had it all figured out. Now I know who he really is, and I won't let him forget us."

Deidre's voice hardened ever so slightly. "No. Batman is never going to forget about us."


	2. Chapter 2

Why was it never easy?

Terry scarcely had time to think the question before dodging the next punch. An upper roundhouse to the head, or something approximating one, right handed. These runners never had any style, any technique to their fighting....

He feinted with his own right, and drove his left fist into the guy's ribcage.

....it was so artless, so random. They hadn't trained, hadn't learned any martial artistry, just throw as many punches as hard as you can until you knock the guy out. Or get knocked out.

Terry knocked the guy out.

But what could you really expect from synth runners? They weren't like the Jokerz, in it as much for the fun as for the profit. If beating the crap out of people was a kind of fun.

He dropped and swung out his left leg behind him, sweeping under the guy coming behind him. The guy fell backwards, letting out a groan.

"Okay," Terry thought. "_Sometimes_ it's kinda fun."

He was reaching for the creep when he heard it. He dove for cover behind a crate, almost before identifying the sound as a plasma rifle being cocked. Blasts tore into the crate. He fired the boots, launching himself toward the ceiling.

This was supposed to have been an easy bust. He'd been tracking these synth runners for weeks, waiting to catch them at a drop-off, with a full load of their stuff. Synthetic opiate, worth at least two million creds on the street. They were one of the main distributors.

He'd waited until after the drop had been made, making sure to put a tracer on the drop-off car. Now he could catch them with the evidence, before it had been cut, and when there weren't too many of them to deal with. He knew this group, knew there would be five of them tonight, knew what kind of weapons they had. He could handle it.

He hadn't counted on the extra muscle. With a plasma gun. Cochrane Weapons Systems APH-7X-K34-something-something, shipment gone missing two weeks ago, military grade weapon, never put into service, capable of stopping a tank. Several tanks. In one hit.

_Stupid_, Terry thought. _Of course they'll have extra protection on the night of the drop-off._ He could just hear what the old man would say about this. _If I tell him_.

He waited in the shadows of the rafters, near one of the old-fashioned fire sprinklers, letting the thermo-scan pick up the plasma gun's signature. There it was, a great white blob, getting bigger in his field of vision--

Terry jumped out of the way of the plasma charge. A deafening explosion followed him, then another. He didn't have time to look back, and he knew what he would see if he did: sections of roof being blown away, just centimeters behind him. Their progress followed his flight. He barely had time to realize there was more than one firing. There were at least two, maybe more, up on the catwalks around the edge of the room. He pointed with his hand, sending a blade in the direction of one of the guns, knowing he hadn't had time to aim. _Maybe this is more than I can handle_, he thought. He started to talk to the old man over the link before remembering Bruce wasn't in the cave.

In that split second's hesitation, a plasma gun caught up with him. Or rather, fired right in front of him. The blast went off next to his ear, hurtling him into the wall. He rolled with the blow, letting the suit take as much of the damage as possible, firing the boots on instinct to slow his collapse to the floor. This wasn't going right at all. He needed help.

He called up the access code for the car he'd left hovering nearby, watching the readout on his visor. He could bring it in through the hole in the ceiling, have it take out some of the firepower.

There was only static in the visor, followed by the blinking text "CONNECTION FAILED". Equipment failure. Perfect.

_I'm starting to think this just isn't my night_. But there was no time to think, the guns were still firing, there was no one down here but him now, dodge, jump, the men he'd knocked out were gone, so were the drugs, get over this table, the sound of the guns firing was deafening, didn't they need to stop?, those things must be scorching by now, roll away from the blast, the guns will overheat pretty soon--

And then Terry remembered why the army had never put these rifles into service. And he had an idea.

Vaulting into position, he took aim with another blade and fired.

Not at the guns.

At the sprinkler head.

He heard the clink of metal, and then a stream of water poured over him, over the detritus on the floor, over everything. Including the guns. He heard one of the gunmen cry out in surprise as his weapon jammed, contracting from the sudden cold. He heard the noise of the gunman trying to fire one more time, the noise of its power cell overloading--

_You idiot_, Terry thought, _don't try to fire a jammed plasma rifle--_

He heard the gun clatter to the floor as the gunman threw it away, and huddled against the ground, shielding himself from the explosion.

As the sound receded from his hearing, he stood again, surveying the remains of the room. No drugs. No weapons. Thermo-scan showed everyone had fled.

Terry shook his head. Why was it never easy?


	3. Chapter 3

The noise was sure to have attracted the attention of the police, so Deidre didn't have much time. But she had to make sure he would get out alright, else it might be over before it had even begun.

She'd followed Batman here, stayed well in the shadows, staying several steps behind. He hadn't noticed her, she was sure of it. Actually, she could have predicted he'd come here--her contact in the Jokerz had mentioned a synth storehouse in this neighborhood. Of course Batman would come to a place like this, trying to catch them. Judging by the explosion, he hadn't been successful. Too bad for him.

She watched as several men ran out of the building, frantically dumping bags into a truck. But they were at street level, and she was focused on the roof--the roof, where he would surely soon appear...

The squealing tires faded, leaving only the distant wail of a siren. _Come on_, she thought, _I know you're in there--_

The dark silhouette of a bat appeared against the darker sky, moving upward.

He was alright.

She smiled to herself.

Things would happen on _her_ time.


	4. Chapter 4

Terry made his way into the apartment as quietly as he could. How had the communication link failed? He wondered if he could repair it himself as he moved through the dark. He left the lights off. It was only quarter to two. Probably no one was up. He just needed to be quiet, slip into his room, and--

He was blinded by a white flash, and stopped in his tracks.

"Ha! Gotcha!"

Among the fading purple spots in his vision, he could discern his brother crouching behind the sofa. Matt, nine years old, never acted a day over eight. He was clutching the digital camera he'd gotten for his birthday three months ago.

Terry dropped his bag on the floor. "You little twip!" he said in a strangled voice, trying not to awaken their mother. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "What are you doing up--"

"Aww, crud," Matt said. His voice, too, was hushed. "I was hoping to catch you with Dana..." He gave the last two syllables a singsong quality.

"You stayed up trying to get blackmail photos? I swear, the minute I can see you..." He could hear the boy's laughter, and moved towards it. Matt darted away, still laughing, Terry gave chase, and they ran around the living room, trying to be quiet and failing. They wound up on the couch at that strange moment where exasperation with a sibling turns into a peculiar sort of brotherly love, both giggling, Terry trying to give Matt a pink belly, when the lights came on.

This time, both of them blinked. Mary McGinnis stood in the doorway.

"What is all this racket?"

"Uh, Mom, Terry was late and--"

"The little twip here was waiting--"

"Enough," she cut them off. "Matthew Jordan McGinnis, you are supposed to be in bed. You go there right now. We'll talk about what you were doing up in the morning."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He slunk off to his room.

"Mom, he was waiting up for me. I was just getting home."

"Yes, at two in the morning. And on a school night, as well."

Terry made an appeasing gesture with his hands. "I know. I'm sorry. I had to do an errand out of town for Mr. Wayne, and I had a problem with the car, so I didn't get back to Gotham until midnight..."

"I know," she sighed. "It's always something. You come home late, you don't get enough sleep, and still you somehow do alright in school. And you never give up on this job." She sat on the couch next to him. "You must really love what Mr. Wayne has you doing."

_I'm not sure that's how I'd describe it_, he thought.

"But we hardly ever see you anymore. And I worry about you. You're out after curfew so much. And with these new parental responsibility laws..." She shook her head.

"Mom, I have a work permit. It's okay for me to be out this late. You worry too much." He sighed. "And I wouldn't have woken anyone up if Matt had been asleep. Why was the little twip up, anyway?"

"He probably misses you. Things have never really been the same between you two since the divorce."

"Or since Dad was killed."

Mary nodded. They were silent for a while.

"Dana called earlier."

"Did she leave a message?"

"She said not to forget that you're taking her to her pharmacy job after school tomorrow...or I suppose today now." Mary paused. "She said she misses you."

Terry said nothing.

"I like her, you know. I think she's good for you. And maybe you're good for her, too."

"Mom..." His voice carried the same tone as every adolescent who ever had a conversation with his mother about his girlfriend.

"Alright, alright. I won't say anymore." She patted his knee.

"Terry," she asked at length. "Is this job really worth it? Worth being away from us? Or from Dana?"

He thought for a long while. How could he explain? "Mom...I know I've been kind of a disappointment to you...to you and dad..."

"Terry, that's--"

"No, it is true. Or at least, that's how it feels to me. And this job...I can't describe it...it makes me feel worthwhile. I just...I don't want to give that up."

"You know, you don't need any job to be worthwhile. You make yourself worthwhile."

"I know. But...I'm not ready to give up this job. Not yet. I don't know when I will be."

"Alright. But I've got a week's worth of invoice reports waiting for me at the office, and you have school. We'd better get to bed." She got off the sofa, gave him a motherly kiss, and they went to their bedrooms.


	5. Chapter 5

DeeDee grabbed the mesh and shook it. It did not budge. _Good,_ she thought. _It's perfect._

She swung around, checking the space one last time. There was nothing useful left. Just some empty boxes and buckets. Bare walls, no holes or ductwork.

There was, in short, no way out.

She left the room, switching off the single light. Down the hall, she'd set up her own living space: cheap bed, small refrigerator, the stolen laptop. She'd snaked power from the building across the alley--no one would notice the illegal hook up.

Flipping the laptop open, DeeDee scanned the web for the latest newsfeeds. Nothing directly mentioned Batman, but there was a mention of police coming across the synth storehouse. It referenced 'unknown agents that may have disrupted operations'. She smirked to herself. _Only unknown to them_, she thought.

She pulled a drink from the fridge and lay on the bed, the darkness interrupted by a streetlight outside the window. Nobody ever checked this place out. Fifteen floors, and it was completely deserted. Even the vagrants didn't come in here anymore. Not after what she'd done to the last one.

Deidre reached behind the bed and pulled out the book once more. Delia's journal. She had hidden it in the hole behind the floor molding in their bedroom, always their secret place from Nana Harley. The old witch never had a clue what they were really up to.

She ran her hands over it. Her last connection with her sister. Started the day that Delia had been sent home from juvie and Deidre hadn't. And full of nothing but stuff on Batman.

Deidre could still remember when she and Delia had been sentenced to juvenile detention hall. "Be grateful," the judge had told them. "If you two were just a few months older, I'd put you in a real prison." That fat judge, so sure of his position, his righteousness. He acted as if he was doing them a favor, placing them in juvie.

It was there that they spent every day staring at the same four walls, herded from one mindless chore to the next. Herded out of their cells each morning to a greasy mess hall, and given slop unfit for an animal; herded to an exercise field, and made to move their bodies until they dropped; herded to a menial job where you broke your hands open doing slave labor; and finally herded back to your cell to start the routine all over again.

It was there that you had to keep your wits about you every second, where the guards made sport of you and the other inmates would rip you apart over a single cigarette.

It was there that you could make enemies without even realizing it, where someone else heard about how you had worked with the Joker himself and decided they were going to take you down.

It was there that you were separated from the only person in the world you cared for, and who cared for you, and were forced to work at separate jobs because of the whim of some guard.

It was there you were ambushed by your enemy, and forced to fight, and denied parole because of it.

It was there that the only person you cared for was released before you, and you had to watch as she left and you stayed behind those bars.

And it was there that you received news that the only person you cared for was dead, before her time, and you couldn't even attend the funeral.

Oh, yes. Deidre was very grateful for being placed in juvenile hall.

She'd come home and gone straight to their hiding place. Delia had written her in juvie, dropped hints that she'd found something. But she hadn't said what. They both knew the mail was watched. And when they'd told her Delia was dead, Deidre knew where to go.

Delia had figured it out. _She always was smarter than me,_ Deidre thought.

Deidre closed the journal, squeezing the last memory of her sister to her chest. Everything was in there--dates, times, locations, news clippings. Even stuff about Nana Harley.

They were seven when dad shot mom. They'd been hiding behind the kitchen door as the gunshots sounded. He told them to keep quiet, and put them in the car, and they'd escaped. For seven years, they'd lived on the run.

When the court finally arrested their father, they'd been placed in the custody of Nana Harley. Of course, that wasn't her actual name--the name on the paperwork was Hannah Quentin, mother of Danielle Quentin, née Dennis, mother of Delia and Deidre Dennis. The old bat just insisted they call her Nana Harley.

She sure wasn't like dad. Hannah Quentin was Bible thumping, devout, righteous. Spare the rod and spoil the child. And once they were in her home, she never once risked spoiling the child. But the sisters suspected that she hadn't always been that way. They'd heard the family stories: Nana Harley used to be evil.

But they had no idea how evil.

That was part of what Delia had learned. Hannah Quentin used to be Harleen Quinzell. Harley Quinn, partner with the Joker himself. And that's when it all came together.

Deidre had confronted Nana Harley. Nana had cried. It had been such a wicked life, what she'd done. She was so ashamed. Just as she was ashamed of Delia. That evil girl got what she deserved, Nana Harley proclaimed. Spending time with that awful Joker, the same man who had once left her for dead; Harley had put that life behind her; Delia should have known better than to play with that fire.

That had been it. Nobody talked about Deidre's sister that way. Nana's brittle arms tried to pry Deidre's fingers from her throat, but they were old and weak, and she was gasping from Joker's own gas bomb, a leftover token Deidre had from her time in his gang. Soon her eyes were wide and sightless, her lips pulled back in a hideous leer. Not quite dead, but close enough.

From there, it was a simple matter to burn the apartment down. The place was a fire trap anyway. And Deidre had come to this abandoned building.

Now there was only one person left to take care of.

_Soon_, she thought. _It will be soon._


	6. Chapter 6

The third bell sounded, and Maxine pulled out her laptop. She glanced at the empty seat in front of her. _Fourth time this month_, she thought.

"Alright, before we start with today's lesson, please submit last night's assignment...ah, yes. How good of you to join us, Mr. McGinnis." Max watched Terry slink into his seat. "I suppose it's too much to ask for you to have your homework prepared as well," Ms. Biggs continued.

Terry's eyes shifted away. "Um...yeah, it might be..." Some stifled giggles could be heard through the room.

"Well, it won't be the first 'F' you've taken in this class, now will it?" Ms. Biggs returned her attention the class at large. "Now then, from last night's homework you should have a clear picture of how nucleotides are replicated..."

"What's up her butt, anyway?" Terry whispered over his shoulder.

"Maybe she just hates to see her students fail for no good reason. This is twice you've been late this week, and it's only Tuesday. What's with you lately?", Max whispered.

"What else? The night job."

"I thought the old man was out of town."

"He is. But I've been working on my own." Terry turned to face her. "And I need your help with something after school..."

He caught Max's eyes flicking desperately towards the front of his seat. Terry turned around to find Ms. Biggs glaring down at him.

"I'm going to do you a favor, Mr. McGinnis. You can do your makeup assignment after school. Two hours detention. And I'd watch with whom you keep company, Ms. Gibson," she said, returning to the front of the room. Terry huddled in his seat, trying to ignore the snickering around him.

"Well, that'll be two hours of my life I'll never have again," Terry said as they left the room after class.

"You should take advantage of the down time," Max replied. "You ought to take advantage of the time while Mr. Wayne isn't around. Where is he, anyway?"

"Tokyo for two weeks. But keep it quiet. Nobody knows, not even my mom."

"You do live dangerously. What did you want help with?"

"There's a problem with the, um, equipment."

"And you think I can fix the, um, equipment?"

"I think I can't get to Tokyo. And I think I'm not the one taking nanotech for college credit."

Max gave her sardonic smile. "Bring it by my apartment. _After_ you get out of detention."

"Sure thing. Hey, Dana!!"

The girl with the long black hair looked from her locker. Terry saw her face light up at the sight of him. Max drifted away from the pair.

He slipped an arm around her waist. "What's up, slacker?", he said, brushing her ear.

"Not much, JD," came her murmured replied. "Can you meet me after seventh period? I think I can get out of class early."

Terry groaned to himself. He'd forgotten about their plan. "Sorry. Old Lady Biggs just gave me two hours DT."

Dana had spun around almost before he finished saying it. "Not this again. Terry--"

"Dana, really, I'm sorry--"

"McGinnis, you _are_ sorry. You're always sorry. You were sorry last night when you had to work, and Mr. Wayne isn't even in town. And I'm not even going to ask what you had to do for him, because I know you'll give me some bogus answer. Now we have something else planned, and you get detention. Nice _commitment_ you have there." She slammed her locker shut. "You know something? You _are_ a slacker."

"I know...I know. Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

She gazed at him for a long moment, then stalked off. "I'll think about it. But don't count on anything."

Terry watched her walk away as the bell rang. He dropped his head against her locker. Why was it never easy?

************

She watched the two of them from around the corner, reading their eyes, their movements, their body language. They looked good together: their dark hair and soft features. As if they belonged together.

The girl stalked away in anger, but there was no mistaking the connection between them. _In fact,_ she thought,_ I'm counting on it._

Deidre smiled to herself. _Soon._


	7. Chapter 7

Dana attempted to concentrate on the poem in front of her, shutting out the thrumming of the overhead fluorescent light. Two desks in front of her, a long haired boy sat drawing primitive patterns on his left forearm; in the next row, a girl slouched over a pile of books, occasionally giving a slight snore. Dana shook her head and looked back at the reader.

Someone flounced into the desk behind her. "Hey ya, Tan."

Dana sighed and closed her reader. "Hi, Blade," she replied.

She watched idly as the platinum-haired girl took out a bottle of nail polish and a file. Dana knew it wasn't worth the trouble of pointing out to Blade that nail polish wasn't allowed in study hall. Doing so would only elicit a blank stare and an idle pop of her bubble gum, which was also not allowed. So she just looked on as Blade filed down the edge of her left index finger and gently brushed on a thin coat of Strawberry Letter #23.

As she started a second nail Blade glanced at Dana. "So, I hear you broke up with Terry again after third period," she said, still watching her nail.

"Where'd you hear it from this time?" Dana's voice carried disinterest.

"Chels. I think she heard from Jessie. So is this the 835th time? Or just the 834th? 'Cause I kinda lost count last month."

Dana rolled her eyes. "Look, I didn't break up with him. THIS time," she added in response to Blade's arched eyebrow. "I just had a fight....A bad fight....Okay, a REALLY bad fight...which may--"

"NO TALKING DURING STUDY PERIOD" came a mechanical voice. The automated monitor shined a light on their desks, and they both pulled back into position.

After a minute, a whisper came over her shoulder. "Which may what? You breaking up again or not?"

"I don't know," Dana whispered back, rubbing her forehead. "It's all so complicated."

"Well, you know, I really think you're not loosing anything if you do," Blade continued. "It's not like he's your only option, after all...I could set you up with Nash."

"Nelson Nash?"

"That's the one."

"I thought he was dating Tanesha."

"They broke up."

"How come?"

"She found out about my date with him."

"Blade...didn't you have to threaten him with mace on that date?"

Blade shrugged. "Well, yeah...but it was fun up 'til then."

Dana gave her a look.

"Oh, come on, Dana," Blade clucked. "You can't get so uptight. Men always do stuff like that. They're like Kleenex--use once and throw 'em away. You ought to have fun while you're still young."

Dana turned to the front again. "Forgive me if I beg to differ."

"Well, think what you want...but don't think McGinnis isn't playing the field himself."

It was all she could do not to spin around and shout. "What do you mean by THAT?"

Now Blade gave her a look. "Dana, everybody's noticed about him and Max..."

Dana narrowed her eyes. "Noticed what?"

"They're always together. He goes over to her house. What do you think is happening?"

"It's not like that."

"Oh, really?"

"Blade, she's my friend, too. She's YOUR friend."

"That's why _I_ wouldn't trust her."

Blade kept filing her nail. Dana wondered how to frame a response. In truth, she hardly understood her relationship with Terry herself. When she thought of him, she could feel anger: anger at being left behind, at being ignored, at his putting other things before her.

And Dana knew her anger was real. She hated being possessed, being treated like property. So often, she worried that was how Terry thought of her: as property, ignored when he didn't want to play, but defended when anyone else intruded. Many of the people she knew were treated that way. She could understand how she and Terry must look to people on the outside.

And yet...she couldn't bring herself to believe what people were saying about him. She knew Max. She knew Terry. She knew how _they_ were...and it wasn't how he was with her. She _knew_ this. And she knew, deep inside, she couldn't really imagine being without Terry McGinnis.

"So what do you say?" Blade asked.

Dana sighed. "Forget it."

"Hmm...well, good luck, then."

"What? What do you mean?"

Blade shrugged. "Nash heard about the fight, too. I think he's planning to talk to you after study hall."

"Oh no! Look, can you tell him--"

She was cut off by a light in her eye. "STUDENT DANA TAN, YOU NOW HAVE TWICE INTERRUPTED THIS STUDY PERIOD. YOU WILL BE REPORTED TO THE DISCIPLINE MONITOR FOR THIS FLOOR."

Chagrined, Dana slumped in her seat. A discipline report. Terrific. And Nash would be waiting for her afterwards. Something else to worry about.


	8. Chapter 8

Terry threaded his way through the halls after his fifth period class, intent on his destination. Dana had to go to her locker after study hall. She didn't like carrying her lab kit for AP Biology around with her, so she always got it right before class. Maybe he could recover from the blowout earlier. If he could just find the right things to say...

He turned the corner. Dana was at her locker, transferring things into her bag. Leaning against the wall next to her was Nelson Nash, all six feet two inches of him. Letterman jacket over a solid build. His brown eyes, set in a smooth face, were confident, hungry but assured of their prey. Right now, they were focused on Dana. Terry made his way over to the pair.

"....look, Dana, I'm just saying I heard about the fight you two had earlier, and I thought you might--"

"I doubt she needs anything from you, Nash."

"Terry!" Dana looked up in surprise.

Terry stepped between them. "Dana, I want to talk to you."

"Terry, this isn't--"

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," he continued. "I want to make it up to you."

"She was talking to me, McGinnis. You can just wait your turn," Nelson said.

"Beat it, Nelson," Terry said to him.

"Excuse me? You think you can talk to ME like that?"

"Hey, wait you two--", Dana said.

"Nelson, I don't need your crap, so why don't you--"

"Hey!!" Dana shoved herself between the two of them. "What do you think I am, McGinnis? A piece of meat you can order around? It's none of your business who I'm talking to." She turned to Nash. "And _you_. I don't need some wolf sniffing around the minute he scents a fresh kill." Slamming her locker shut, she marched off.

After a moment, Nelson looked at Terry. "Smooth move, twip."

Terry turned to leave. "Blip off, Nash."

"Who'd you get to fight your battles for you before Dana?"

He paused. "I fight my own battles."

"Yeah, sure. Just like in wrestling class. I beat you every time in there. And I can do it out here, too."

Terry stopped. Nelson gave a twisted sort of smile. "If you can't take care of your girlfriend, don't get angry when someone else steps in."

Terry had just started to turn back to Nash when another voice interrupted them.

"Is there a problem here?" Principal Nakamura said.

Both boys looked at him with surprise. Nelson recovered first. "Not at all, sir. Just giving some advice to a fellow classmate."

"I see," the principal replied. "You had better get to your class, Mr. Nash. Mr. McGinnis, I'll see you in my office, please."

"But I wasn't--"

"In my office. Now." Nakamura turned and walked to his office with such authority that Terry had little choice but to follow.


	9. Chapter 9

Nakamura made Terry wait on the bench outside his office before deigning to see him. The bench was hard and flat, and only emphasized his discomfort. Terry wondered if it hadn't been put there for precisely that reason. He looked to Nakamura's secretary. She gave a small smile, perhaps sympathetic. But she said nothing.

There was a buzzing sound. She touched a button on her desk, and the principal's voice said, "Joanne, I will see Mr. McGinnis now."

"Yes, sir." She gestured towards the door.

Nakamura bade him sit down. He was an older man, in his early fifties. The students knew him to be tough-minded and serious. They also knew him to tolerate little mischief, and to have almost no sense of humor. He looked at Terry through round wireframe glasses with eyes that were calm, careful, and just a little weary.

The silence stretched out. Terry finally cleared his throat. "What did you want to see me about, sir?"

"I thought I should tell you in person, Mr. McGinnis." He turned to his computer terminal. "I have your application to Metropolis University here..."

Terry felt a lump of apprehension form inside. His application. He and Dana had sent in the paperwork two months ago. Applying together had been Terry's idea. He now had to admit that he wasn't sure what he'd been thinking. Given his, well, his other job....well, going to out-of-state school was going to interfere with that, to say the least. Perhaps that was why he hadn't told Bruce.

They had in fact applied at several schools, most of which had accepted Dana; all but two had rejected him. Except for Metropolis. She had gotten the acceptance letter last week. He had heard nothing.

"They looked very closely at your record, and I don't think they were entirely impressed. They are, after all, very selective."

As Terry sat listening to Nakamura, there was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He wanted to go. And it was slipping away from him.

"But apparently, they weren't entirely sure. So they took the step of contacting me."

The sinking feeling hit bottom.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told them. I think Terry McGinnis has a great deal to learn about discipline and control. He comes nowhere near achieving his potential as a student or a citizen." Nakamura paused. "I also think he has an extraordinary amount of potential, and in the last year I've seen him make considerable strides towards harnessing it. Two years ago, I would not have hesitated in telling them that he was of no caliber to honor an institution like Metropolis University. But since that time, I have seen him endure considerable hardship and even tragedy in his life. And I have seen him rise to the challenge. He has turned his academic record around; he has taken on adult responsibility in the form of a job with one of our most important citizens; and begun to take on a central role in his own home. In short I have, quite unexpectedly, seen him grow into an adult, and on that basis, I think he deserves a chance at an excellent university."

Terry sat back in his chair. He blinked, unable to find words to put in his mouth.

"You should understand that this was merely a phone conversation with an admission counselor. They will be waiting on an official letter of recommendation. But I think it's very possible that they believed me." Nakamura offered a hand over his desk. "So let me be the first to congratulate you, Mr. McGinnis. I think it's quite likely you will be accepted at Metropolis University."

His voice returned to him in a rush. "Sir, thank you, sir," he said, shaking the principal's hand. "I--I don't know what to say."

Nakamura nodded, then looked at him seriously. "Before you thank me, you should understand that this offer is provisional. They are still concerned about your record. You know that not all your grades are up to their standard."

Terry nodded. "My Genetic Biochem grade. Yes, sir."

"Furthermore, I won't be able to complete and send the recommendation until next week, and I'll be watching your behavior closely in the meantime. If I see any more incidents like the one with Mr. Nash, I will have to seriously reconsider what I tell the admissions board. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir."

The principal stood. "Very well. I think I've kept you from class long enough. See Joanne on the way out for a hall pass."

Collecting his pass, Terry could barely contain himself. He was going. He had a future. He could hardly wait to tell...

He paused. He thought of the look on Dana's face when she'd stormed off from her locker. A look of anger, hurt, confusion. He'd be lucky if she'd even talk to him right now.

His pace slowed. Maybe he could wait to tell her. Maybe he had no choice.


	10. Chapter 10

Commissioner Gordon ran a finger along her computer screen, squinting. Ever since turning fifty, she'd needed the damned glasses to read a computer listing. _What's happened to you, Barbara?_ _You used to be a genius with this stuff._

There was a knock at her door. "You wanted to talk to me, Commissioner?"

"Come in, Roberto."

Her office was as spartan as that of any civil servant. The desk was large, old and scarred, one corner occupied by a computer terminal large enough to suggest it was a few generations away from cutting edge. There were two bookshelves on the wall, with a few personal artifacts interspersed among the imposing manuals. The window behind her was the only suggestion that she held a position of some significance. The small framed picture on the desk was the only suggestion of a life beyond civil service.

The Commissioner tapped a button on her intercom and said, "Hold my calls, Trudy." She turned to face the man now sitting across her desk.

"Detective Deleon, I have your latest request to assemble a special task force. You want to explain yourself?"

"I'm only asking for a small force, sir. Two additional detectives, a crime scene specialist, plus authority to call in the Quick Response Team--"

"I understand the details, Deleon," she said as she tented her fingers. "I meant maybe you could tell me what the hell you think you're doing?"

"Assembling a team to eradicate crime, sir. Especially in an area where our department has been deficient."

"Uh-huh. And what did you call it in this proposal...'countercriminal agents with concealed identities operating outside GPD jurisdiction'. Very nice."

The man regarded her with a calm stare. "Well, you rejected the one that said 'masked vigilantes'."

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "And you thought I wouldn't recognize this new set of codewords? Deleon, I'm quite aware of your ambitions. You've been trying for a shot at Batman since you made detective. And I'm not going to waste department time on your personal crusade."

The man across from her scowled slightly, but kept his voice light. "Commissioner, if you look at the budget in my proposal--"

"This isn't about allocating money, detective."

"Isn't it, sir? Half the patrol force thinks ever since this 'Batman' reappeared he's some sort of messiah, come to enforce law and order. But Batman isn't law and order. He operates in secret, usurping legitimate police power in direct violation of section 14.9.2 of the--"

"I know the Gotham City Penal Code, Deleon. And I'm not going to argue with you about the legal status of Batman. But there's no reason to suspect him of any actual crime at this time, and until there is we're not spending time chasing a freak in a costume."

"No actual crime? You've forgotten about the shootout at Spitelli's Liquors?"

Gordon removed her eyeglasses, rubbing her forehead. "The forensics report says that was an accident. We have no proof Batman was responsible for those people being shot."

"Three eyewitnesses put him at the scene. How much proof do we need?"

"Three eyewitnesses who all agree it was dark when the shots were fired. Mahoney and Liebowitz both investigated that liquor store, and neither of them thought Batman did it. Now let it drop."

Deleon was quiet for a few moments. Outside the pebble glass door there was the clatter of office machinery. A single plant grew in a small pot on the windowsill, leaves turned toward the glass.

"Very well, sir. But you should know that there are other parties interested in this." He handed a piece of paper over the desk. "Like Councilman Lowery."

She regarded the document, emblazoned at the bottom with the Gotham City Police Department seal next to Lowery's digital signature. "'An official order from the man who controls the entire police budget. Very cute. How did you get this?"

Deleon shrugged. "I paid my way through Gotham U as a caddy. Lowery always tended to blade the ball when he was chipping." He gave a slight smirk. "I think he appreciated my advice to close up on the three iron."

"How nice for you."

"My task force would cost the department less than one percent of our annual budget, sir. And Councilman Lowery likes to be seen as tough on crime."

"And we all know it's an election year, don't we?" Barbara sighed. She applied her thumbprint signature to the document. "Alright, you can have your task force. And the QRT can help you, _if_ they aren't busy."

"Thank you, sir."

"And by the way, detective..."

Deleon turned, hand on the doorknob.

"You're not the only one in this department with connections. Don't forget, I'm sleeping with the Gotham City D.A."

Commissioner Gordon no longer wore her glasses, but her look was perfectly clear. "Go over my head again, and I'll bust you so low your only access to Lowery will be putting parking tickets on his limo. Do I make myself clear?"

The detective stood holding the door. "Yes...sir."

"Good," Barbara said, turning back to her computer. "And be sure to close the door on your way out."


	11. Chapter 11

"Ready?"

Max nodded.

"Alright."

Terry drove his right fist towards Max. She neatly sidestepped, hitting his back with the edge of her hand. She saw Terry wince, but her movements were automatic, and with a fluid motion she grabbed his right wrist and forehead, pulling him back. Rising up on her right leg, she was about to sweep under him with her left foot when he collapsed, throwing her off balance. Taking advantage of her surprise, he grabbed her around the waist, flipping her over him. It was only by practice that Max tumbled into a safe landing.

Terry picked himself up first. "Not bad. What was that move?"

Max rolled onto her hands and knees. She was breathing deeply. "_Patah dayong nasi hangit_. 'Broken paddle overcooked rice'." She slapped the mat on her apartment floor. "Damn it! I've been practicing this one for weeks, and you broke it first try."

"Don't get so upset. The real thing is always harder than you expect. And I've had a lot of practice."

"I know, I know." Max shook her head.

Terry got up and walked over to the couch, tossing her a towel. "So you've been studying this for what, six months now?"

"About that. Silat Gayong. Malaysian self-defense." She stood up, wiping herself with the towel. "I was lucky to find a cikgu here in Gotham."

"You never told me why you got into this."

Max went to the refrigerator and rummaged inside. She pulled out a bottle of chai. "You remember about a year ago, when you got lost in the subway?"

"The thing with Shriek? Yeah."

"I went out with Mr. Wayne, looking for you, and we met a bunch of the T's. We followed them to their hideout. He went in there alone, and then he didn't come out. After a few minutes I went in after him."

She shut her eyes. "They had the old man down on the floor like a dog. And they turn to see me, and this big guy he comes over like he's going to do...I don't know what." She shivered. "I only drove him off because I sprayed him with a can of mace. After I hit him with it, the rest of them got out of there fast."

Terry was quiet for a moment. "That was good thinking, Max. You did the right thing."

She nodded. "Yeah. But I was scared when he came after me. It was...it was the first time I really understood how dangerous this world of yours is." She took a drink, and continued in a hard voice. "And after we were out of there, I decided I would never be that helpless ever again."

"Helpless isn't not knowing how to fight, Max. It's not doing anything to get yourself out of a situation."

She set down the chai. "So you mean you're not helpless to fix the Batsuit?" she asked with a grin.

"Well, there's helpless and then there's clueless."

She fetched her box of tools. "Let's see the suit, clueless boy."


	12. Chapter 12

"Ow!"

Dana rubbed her hand against her mouth, kissing the spot where hot grease had splattered onto it. She continued to stir the vegetables in the large pot with her other hand. A fragrance of ginger and onion permeated the air.

She crossed to the kitchen door. "Dad! Dinner's almost ready!"

"Alright, sweetheart," came the reply. "I'll be there in a minute."

Moving back to the stove, Dana picked up a bowl of noodles and carefully slid them into the pan. There was enough for three people. She still cooked the way her mother had taught her. She never bothered to reduce the proportions. She would just save some for tomorrow.

Turning off the burner, she dumped the contents of the pan back into the bowl and carried it into the dining room.

Her father was sitting down at the small table. "So what's the menu for tonight?"

"Just a pork stir fry." She shrugged as she sat down. "I felt like making something simple."

Mr. Tan nodded, piling some on his plate. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

Dana's father swallowed a mouthful. "Your mother always used more bamboo shoots," he said.

She could feel herself stiffen. "I don't like bamboo," she said.

"And you always make too much."

"Daddy, I make it the way Mom taught me to. Except with less bamboo," she continued as he began to protest.

"Well, if you can change the proportion of the bamboo, why not just make less, so you don't waste any?"

Dana looked at her plate. It was like this every night. Well, no. Not every night. It just seemed that way.

She drew in a breath very slowly. "I make us dinner, and I make it the way I know how. I'm sorry if I don't make it the way you like, but it's what I know."

"But you cook so rarely--"

"I cook for us three nights a week." She heard a slight edge in her voice.

His shoulders sagged. "I know you do, sweetheart. And you do a fine job. It's just that..."

He trailed off, looking guilty. "It's just what?" Dana's voice was flat.

"It's just...you should learn how to adapt as a cook. A good chef can adapt her menu, and knowing how to cook is an important part of being a good wife."

Dana could feel her jaw working, but she managed to keep her voice light. "Maybe I'll marry someone who doesn't care how I cook."

He shook his head. "Anyone worthy of you would want a proper housewife."

"Worthy of me?" She set her fork down with a snap. "Worthy of me? This is about Terry. That's what this is about, isn't it."

"Well, since you brought the subject up..."

"I didn't bring it up, Dad. You did."

"Since you brought it up," he continued, "you...you know how I feel about him. He's--"

"Yes, I know. He comes from a broken home. He's not Asian, like us. And he's poor."

"Dana, that's not what I mean."

"Well, then what do you mean? What is the problem?"

"He has a criminal record, Dana," he said, his voice rising. "And yes. He's not like us. He's dangerous." Dana dropped her face into her hands. "Honey, you're too young. You don't understand what the world is like. There are people out there who will hurt you, who will do...terrible things to you. Maybe Terry isn't one of them. I don't know. But you know he's been in trouble before. How can you take that risk?" His voice softened. "I love you, honey. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Dana felt ready to cry. But they'd had this argument too many times. The tears would come later. Right now, she just felt tired.

She gave a long sigh. "Can't you just trust me to take care of myself?"

"I try, honey. I really try. But since your mother died, I can't help but worry. And god rest her soul, your mother wouldn't like--"

"Mom would have been fine with Terry!" she shouted. "It's you! You're the one who has the problem!"

That stung him. He recovered slowly. "I knew your mother well, Dana," he said slowly. "Better than you. You didn't have to bring her up. But she wouldn't have liked Terry. And no matter how mad you are at me, you ought to think about what she would have wanted for you."

_You're wrong_, Dana thought. Her mother had understood her better than that. She would have seen all the wonderful things about Terry McGinnis that Dana could. Or at least, Dana had to believe that.

She had always been close to her mother. Sunee Tan had been a special woman, able to see the best in any person. It had been what gave them a special bond, and it made Sunee uncommonly patient with her husband. When the cancer had taken her four years ago, Dana's father had refused to let anyone see his pain. Dana lacked her mother's patience with him, but she knew he still grieved. And she knew she had hurt him with her accusation.

He hung his head. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, Dana," he repeated.

Looking at him, Dana felt anger, but it was overwhelmed by something else...something like pity. She went around the table, put her arms around him, rested her cheek on his head. "I know, Daddy. I love you." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

He patted her arm. "I know you are, honey. I know."

Dana cleared off the dinner dishes in silence. Her father went back to the study he used as an office. She left the dishes in the sink and went to her room.

It was a big house. His office was downstairs, while her room was upstairs at the far end of the house. With her door closed, she knew he could not hear her. Dana sat on the edge of her bed, pulling a massive striped tiger close, wrapping her arms around it, burying her face into the soft stuffed head.

For several minutes she remained that way. Then, without lifting her head, she balled her hand into a fist and drove it into the pillow beside her. And a second time. And a third.

Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to talk about Terry like he was some kind of second class cretin? Why couldn't he trust her? She flung the stuffed animal aside and beat the pillow with the other fist. Why wasn't anyone good enough for him? And why did she have to give in like that? Every time they fought, she tried to stand up for herself, and she always wound up feeling like dirt. She knew he was just trying to protect her. But couldn't he see that he was suffocating her?

Dana flung herself onto the pillow, both hands beating it freely now. He felt he couldn't trust her. Before Terry she had dated other boys, boys much more likely to do the things her father was so afraid of. Maybe she deserved to have this scrutiny. But did that mean he could never trust her again?

She howled now, voice muffled by the soft down. So she had turned to Terry. Terry, who had never come close to taking advantage of her, the way some of those earlier dates had tried. Terry, who let her be herself. Terry, whom she loved. Terry, who never had time for her, who wouldn't make time for her, of whom Max saw more than she. Terry, who she kept taking back anyway. She hated herself for it. She thought she loved him, but she wasn't sure, she wasn't sure of anything because her father never gave her the space to learn about herself, to learn anything at all, and she saw no way out of this trap, she hated her father, she hated Terry, she hated herself, and finally the tears began in earnest and then she could not stop crying.

But eventually she did. She blew her nose, stuffy and raw, into a tissue, and rubbed at her eyes, and thought of what she was going to do. She knew she was going to call. She'd known before she'd started crying. It was only a question of when. Idly, she remembered lines from an old cartoon.

"What are we going to do tonight, Brain?"

"The same thing we do every night, Pinky..." That was what she did. The same thing every night.

Dana reached for the phone. She pressed a key, and listened to it ring, waiting for him to pick up. On the third ring he did.

"Hey..." came his voice.

She hesitated only a moment. "Terry...I want to talk."


	13. Chapter 13

"So what's the matter with it?"

"You don't want to know."

"Sure I do."

"You won't understand it..."

Terry shrugged. "Try me."

Max looked at him. "Alright. When that plasma blast hit the suit, it fried one of the 4047C multivibrators, and now the spread spectrum receiver keeps loosing sync with the reference chip sequence."

Terry stared back for a long moment. "See? I told you I wouldn't understand it."

Max gave her sardonic grin again and shook her head. "McGinnis, I already know you're failing Genetic Biochem. I hate to think how you're doing in Digital Logic." She turned and lifted a small circuit board off her kitchen table. "See this? This is the wi-fi radio transceiver for the suit." She pointed to a section of the suit's cowl, also laying on the table, where the circuitry had been removed. "All the radio communications for the suit goes through it. Take it out and you can't talk to the Batcave, the car, the satellite net, or anything. And they can't talk to you"

"And this one's broken."

"Yup."

"And you can't fix it."

"Nope."

Terry sighed. "Great."

"I can't _fix_ it. But I can replace it."

"Replace it? You can do that?"

"Yup. But it'll cost you eighty creds."

"That's how much a new circuit will cost you?"

She reached for her laptop. "Nope. That's how much it'll cost _you_ to get _my_ computer repaired." Max began unscrewing the bottom of her laptop. "How old did you say this suit is?"

"Twenty, maybe thirty years."

"I guess this was really cutting edge back then. But they've been using this kind of transceiver in laptops for a few years now." She pried another piece of circuitry from her computer, very similar to the one she'd taken from the suit. "Everything uses the same wireless hardware."

"You mean some kid with a laptop could hack into the suit?"

"No. You've got on-board security to protect against that." She pointed out another chip on the cowl. "Four kilobit elliptical curve encryption. Only the government is supposed to have that stuff. If Mr. Wayne had this ten years ago, he must be connected to the biggest research labs in the business. Good thing it still works--I don't know how I'd replace _that_." She screwed the board into place. "Frequency modulator working...packet cache enabled...and you're back in business." The cowl's visor began to glow.

"Max, you're the best."

"I already know that. But money speaks louder than words. You think Mr. Wayne can afford to get me a new laptop?"

"I'll add it to my expense account."

"You don't have an expense account."

"Maybe he'll give me one."

She turned back to her gutted laptop with an exaggerated sigh. "Maybe I'll start saving to fix this thing instead. It should only take me about six months on what I make."

Terry pulled out a credit token. "Here. It's only got thirty creds on it, but it's all I have."

"Terry, I was joking."

"No, really, take it. There's nothing else I can use it for now."

Max looked at him, dropping her jocular manner. She realized what he meant. "Dana's pretty mad at you, huh?"

Terry shook his head, looking at nothing. "That's nothing new. I'm always giving her new reasons to be mad at me. It's not like I don't deserve it."

"She'll take you back. She always does. She loves you."

He grimaced. "That's just the point, isn't it? She always takes me back, no matter how bad I treat her. Like today. I was supposed to meet her after school. We'd planned for me to take her to her job at the pharmacy and hang out at the park before we got there. It's a small thing, I know, but I'd already put her off once this week. And then I go and get detention, and I can't pick her up because by the time I got out she'd already be at work.

"So I try to apologize to her. I went to see her after fifth period, and Nash was there. And...I got stupid. I tried to break into the conversation, and Dana just got angrier."

"She can take care of herself, you know. You don't give her enough credit."

"Yeah. I probably don't. But after the thing with Nash, she went off, and I didn't see her again for the rest of the day. Now I don't know if I can talk to her again."

He was quiet for a while. "I talked to Nakamura. You know how Dana and I applied to places?" Max nodded. "Nakamura put in a word for me with Metropolis U. It looks like they'll accept me."

"Terry, that's great!!" She noticed he didn't share her enthusiasm. "Oh. No, I suppose you haven't told her yet, have you."

"No. The way things are now, I don't know when I'll be able to. I don't dare call her with the way we left things."

"But still...congratulations." He gave a tired sort of smile. "What does Mr. Wayne think of all this?" she asked.

Terry shrugged. "He doesn't know."

"What do you mean he doesn't know?"

"I mean he doesn't know. I haven't told him."

"You haven't told him." It wasn't a question. "Terry, you can't go to college in Metropolis and keep being Batman in Gotham. You do realize that, right?"

"I know. Of course I know that. I just...I don't know." He sat on the couch, looking at the floor. "I can't make up my mind, Max. Being Batman...it gives me something. It gives me a purpose in life. I was...I was a screw-up before. I was angry at everybody, I didn't think the world would offer me anything, that I'd grow up like...like my dad. He was a good guy, had a decent job, took care of his family. But before he died, I thought of him as...small. A small man doing an unimportant job. I loved him, but I didn't want to end up like him. And when he died, and I found the cave, and found the suit...it just changed everything. Suddenly I could mean something to people. I don't want to give that up."

"Then why not stay here? Why go to college?"

"Because...because I know where it leads. I mean, look at what happened to Bruce. He was Batman all those years, and now he's alone. He's got me, I guess, but that doesn't help much. I don't want to end up like him."

"What were you planning on doing after graduating?"

"I don't know. I hadn't given it much thought."

Max snorted. "More like you won't let yourself think about it, I bet. What do you want to major in?"

"Criminology."

Max smiled. Terry looked at her.

"What?"

"You really aren't going to get that far away from the Bat, are you?"

Terry smiled suddenly. "I guess not."

"So what about Dana?"

"What about her?"

"Where does she fit in this future you're planning?"

He shrugged. "We want to go to school together. Her father wants her to go someplace with a good premed program. After that...she wants to move back here. She likes it in Gotham. I guess I want to come back too."

Max began to laugh. "What's so funny?" Terry asked.

"Boy, you _are_ stuck. You're not going to get that far away from Dana, either. You want both things so much you don't know which way is up."

He glared at her. "Just because you don't have anyone..."

"Oh, right. I don't have a boyfriend, so I can't understand how you feel about Dana? Yeah, sure." She sat on the couch, chuckling. "Terry, I'm not looking for a boyfriend right now. If I were, I could get one easy. You really think my only option is Howie the supernerd?"

Terry gave a ghost of a smile. "I figured he must offer great conversation."

She shrugged. "We like kung fu movies and video games. But it's never been a serious thing for us. It's not like you two."

"No, I guess not."

Terry was quiet for a while. "I've only been with her for a couple years, but...there's something different with her. I'd dated before. I even dated a couple times after I met her. But it was never the same with anyone else. There's just something about her, Max...I don't know. She's so smart. So funny. So...nice." He sighed. "I only know I want to be with her."

Max's voice was quiet. "Do you love her?"

Terry took a long time to answer. "I...don't know. I think....I think I do. But being Batman...it makes it all so hard.

"I know Mr. Wayne hasn't had it easy," he continued. "He's been alone all these years. Partly he's just that kind of guy. But he had to give up a lot to be Batman. He's never been married. He's only had a few friends. I know there have been a few women in his life, but mostly they end up drifting away from him. Whether they knew his secret or not, it was always because Batman came first for him, and nothing else."

"He sounds pretty lonely."

"He'd never admit to that. But, yeah, I think he is. And I think having me around helps with that. But, see, I thought I could be different. I see how he is, and...as much as I admire him...I don't want to end up like him. I wanted to have a life of my own, something more than just being Batman.

"And he knows all that, but somehow...he just doesn't buy it. Like with Dana. He knows about her, and he never says anything...but I know he thinks I should break it off with her. He thinks I'm making life hard for her. Hard for both of us."

"Sounds more like he doesn't like how hard she makes it for you to be Batman."

He scowled. "It's not like that."

"It isn't? When's the last time he asked how Dana was doing? The last time he asked how you feel about her? How she feels about you?"

"Max--"

"You don't like that question? How about the last time he asked about your mother? Or Matt? Or me? For that matter, when's the last time he asked about your schoolwork, or your future plans, or what books you've read lately? When's the last time he's asked _anything_ that wasn't about Batman?"

Terry was quiet.

"You haven't told him about what you want for your future, Terry. Why do you think that is?"

He sighed. "I can't just worry about myself. This is a big responsibility, Max."

"Yeah, it is. And you do a good job living up to it. And I don't think it's fair how Mr. Wayne expects you to do it all by yourself."

"It's the way he did it."

"And look where it's gotten him."

Terry nodded slowly. "Yeah. But I'm not completely alone." He smiled. "I have you."

"That's true. But I'm not the one you're planning on going to Metropolis with."

He continued to nod. "No. No, I guess not."

"So why don't you tell her the truth? Let her decide for herself."

"Max, you know why I can't do that."

"Yeah, I know why you _think_ you can't. The Diaz kid."

"What happened to him isn't a joke, Max."

"So who's laughing? But you're letting what happened to one nine year old kid determine your entire future."

"I won't put Dana at risk."

"Knowing about your identity doesn't have to lead to someone's destruction. I know and nothing's happened to me."

"So the martial arts are just for show, then?"

She shut her eyes. "Alright. You have a point. But Dana's not an idiot, you know. She'll figure it out eventually. She's come pretty close already."

"What do you mean?"

"Terry, she knows there's something weird about your relationship with the old man. She knows it's not just a job for you."

"Well, it isn't!" He got to his feet, pacing.

"Then tell her that."

"I can't!"

"Why?"

"Because--because--" Terry stopped pacing and sat down. "Because Bruce thinks I shouldn't."

They were quiet for a while. She shook her head. "You really _are_ confused."

"Yeah."

"Are you willing to live the life he lives, just to be Batman?" Max asked.

"I don't know. All I know is...Dana deserves a better life than I can give her as Batman."

Max was silent for a long time. "So what are you going to do?"

There was a beeping from Terry's backpack. He reached in and pulled out a phone, and read the number from the display. He glanced at Max. "Speak of the devil." He put the phone to his ear. "Hey...you do?...me, too....okay, I'll see you in an hour." He hung up the phone.

"So?"

"I got a reprieve," he said, standing up. "She wants to talk."

"Uh-oh. Where?"

"The same restaurant we went on our first date."

"Could be a good sign."

Terry held up his crossed fingers. "Here's hoping."


	14. Chapter 14

They talked that night. They talked for a long time. Later, Terry couldn't remember the things he said to Dana. He could not recall the sentences, the words, or even the sounds of the words as he spoke them. All he knew was that he spoke from the deepest part of himself, from places he had never known were a part of him. Because when he looked at her when she walked into the room, arriving late to show him, she told him later, what it felt like to be stood up, when he saw her walk over to his table and sit down, her eyes just slightly red, when he realized they were red because she had been crying, crying because of him, and he felt lower than the lowest sewer in Gotham, when all of those things happened, he felt fear. A deeper, more subtle fear than he had ever known. The fear that he would lose her forever.

So he spoke with all of his heart, and all of his soul, with the truest voice he could speak, driven by that quiet terror. Terry knew it wouldn't work. He didn't have the poetry or the artistry to win her heart. He knew it was a hopeless effort. He knew he didn't know the words to use.

But he also knew he had to try.

And against all odds, it did work. Dana was angry, even furious with him. And yet he could see her mask of anger crumble, as did her heart, with each desperate word he spoke. Somehow, someway, they ended the night together on the dance floor, swaying gently to the slow rhythm of the music. And as she drew deeper into his arms, her head tucked under his chin, eyes closed, and as she whispered, "What am I going to do with you?", and drew still deeper into him, Terry felt like he hadn't felt in ages.

He felt blessed.


	15. Chapter 15

Deidre glanced at her watch, unconcerned. She sat at a table on the second floor of the restaurant. From here she could watch them.

She knew a lot about the girl McGinnis was with. She knew that Dana Tan was an only child who lived with her father. She knew that her mother had fallen victim to breast cancer a few years ago. She worked as a pharmacist's assistant on most afternoons, where she earned minimum wage. Her grades were excellent. She hoped to get into a good college next year, and had received several acceptance letters. And her father could probably afford most of those places, although a modest scholarship was likely.

She also knew that Dana had entered the public school system in her freshman year. She was not the most social girl, even though she fit in better with the snob crowd than anyone else. The scent of money, even new money, tended to attract friends. Deidre knew who Dana's friends were, and who were not. And she knew that Dana had one friend she cared about more than anyone else, which was the boy she was on the dance floor with, right now.

Information gathering. It was something Deidre had become good at in juvie, and it served her well in the outside world. After she'd been jumped by that slut, she'd learned to track people. It kept her from getting attacked a second time, which would have delayed her parole further. And it served her well in the halls of Hamilton Hill High, ever since she'd faked an admittance there in order to collect information on Terry McGinnis.

After reading Delia's journal, she'd spent weeks studying about Batman, getting clues from other friends in Jokerz gangs to know where he might show up, then shadowing his every move, staying far enough away that he never noticed. And yet it seemed unbelievable, that the Batman could be another kid her own age. She had to be sure. So she followed him.

The night when she saw the Batman go into the house where she knew McGinnis lived, saw Batman go in, and McGinnis come out, she was sure.

That had been it. Just like when Nana Harley had said those things about Delia, she knew he had to pay. She could think of nothing else. She could not forget what had happened to Delia. She could not let her die for nothing. Deidre kept following him, tracking him, watching from afar. She even broke into his apartment one night when he was out, when she was sure his family was sleeping. It gave her a thrill to enter his domain unchecked.

It was a nice home. A nice life. A warm bed, his own TV set, mother and a brother, happy smiles all around. The kind of life, Deidre reflected, she'd never had.

Something about this life, the life hidden behind the mask, made her quake inside. And she'd turned to his answering machine, and hit 'play', and heard the voice of a girl.

"Hey, Terr," it said, "I know you're probably out again. But I just got the letter from Metropolis. I'm...well, I'm in. And I'm really...I'm just hoping, y'know?" There was a pause, and then the voice said, "I miss you. Give me a call when you get this."

It was, DeeDee thought, the voice of someone too good for the man who'd let her sister die.

She'd always been good at disguise. Her Joker costume kept her real appearance a secret. With a wig and some careful makeup, she'd been able to slip into high school unnoticed, passing herself off as a nondescript goth, glum after her father's transfer from out of state. Nobody paid attention to another gloomy goth.

At the high school, she'd managed to talk to people, or just overhear conversations among Dana's little group of friends, to gain whispers of who she cared about. That was how she confirmed that little Dana Tan was indeed the main squeeze of the Batman. They argued, they fought, they broke up for the night, but always she took him back. Her friends didn't know why, considering the way he treated her. He hardly spent any time with her. What did he do all the time, anyway, that he couldn't devote time to his girlfriend? Deidre, of course, knew the answer to that, and it amused her to think that they didn't. They only knew that Dana must love Terry to keep giving him another chance.

But, watching the two of them leave the dance floor, pressed into one another, it occurred to her that she didn't need to eavesdrop to learn that. It was obvious to anyone with eyes to see.

Deidre looked at her watch. What it said mattered little. Everything was in readiness.

The time had come.


	16. Chapter 16

Dana played with the ice in her glass. She couldn't help but feel a glow deep down. It happened whenever she was around him, whenever he spoke. The words he said almost didn't matter. Just to hear his voice was intoxication enough.

It was, of course, ridiculous. Only a few hours ago she had shed tears over this same boy now sitting next to her, his thigh pressed against hers in one of the many secluded booths that made Geronimo's so popular with kids. There were many times when he had said the same words he said tonight, and they had proven empty. Many times when he made the same promises he made tonight, and they had not been kept. She knew there was something Terry McGinnis kept hidden from her. It hurt that he did not trust her.

And yet, when he spoke so nakedly, as he had tonight, and when she looked into those dark blue eyes and found a need so deep and so true...she felt ashamed for doubting him. Almost ashamed. Mostly, she felt her own desire answering in kind.

"So where are we?" She was pleased to hear her voice remain steady.

"We were talking about how I can make it up to you." Dana felt a shiver as he spoke, but let it pass.

"Oh, yeah. So you can start by taking my hand..."

She offered said hand. Terry accepted it.

"....kissing it very gently...."

He brushed his lips against her knuckles.

"...and saying 'Please, oh beautiful woman, allow me to spend the rest of my days repaying the terrible debt I have incurred'."

"Please, oh beautiful woman, allow me to spend the rest of my days repaying the terrible debt I have incurred," he said, his voice some admixture of sincerity and mockery. There was just a hint of a smile in his gaze.

Dana withdrew her hand. "I'll consider it. In the meantime, put your arms around me and convince me further."

Terry wrapped his arms around her, and she drank in his scent, nearly swooning in the sensation of being so close. When he spoke again, she was sad to have the sensation interrupted. "Almost forgot. I have news."

"Really?" she spoke into his shoulder.

"You're still in at Metropolis, right?"

"Yeah." She pulled back to look up at him. "Terry, you don't mean--"

He grinned. "I think so. It's not a lock yet, but Nakamura's putting a word for me. He's taken a liking to me for some reason."

"Terry, that's--that's--" Dana could feel her face shining. "That's terrific! We can go together! We can--we--oh, God, I can't even find words for it!"

His smile turned sly. "So who needs words?" He lowered his mouth to hers.

Ever since the first time they had kissed, Dana had loved the warm tickle as his nostril breathed on her cheek. They pressed together until she had forgotten about time, relenting only as she moved back into the crook of his arm.

She sighed. "This is going to be amazing." It was a whisper more to herself than to Terry, but she could somehow feel him smile in response. They continued to murmur to each other, Terry running his hand along her shoulder in a lazy arc.

They stayed like that for a long time, watching as other people drifted out of the club. Dana was aware of it, but curiously unconcerned, wishing, though she knew the impulse was absurd, that they could stay like this forever.

Her wish was interrupted by a tired looking woman in an apron.

"Can I get you kids anything else? Fill up your drinks before you go?" She placed special emphasis on the last word.

They turned to each other, smiling lazily. Reluctantly, Terry stood up, pulling her with him. "No, sorry. We'll get out of your hair." As he guided them towards the exit, Dana noticed they were the only patrons left. Their waitress began working with a carpet sweeper.

Outside, the night air was crisp, the slight acrid smell of Gotham almost masked by the scent of leaves fallen from the scant trees. "You wanna go home?" Terry asked.

"Yeah, I suppose." Dana noticed he was already walking them in the direction of her house. His arm was still around her waist.

They arrived outside of her front gate, and exchanged another kiss.

"So I can see you tomorrow, my lady?" His voice still held a hint of mockery. He knew as well as she where they stood now.

"I suppose," she murmured, her lips so close to his he could feel her smile. They kissed once more, lingering for a few moments, before he relinquished her.

Dana unlocked the door and stepped inside the dark house. She turned and gave a last look at Terry, still watching from the gate. With a last wave and a smile, she closed the door.

After a heartbeat, she ever so slightly lifted the shade and watched Terry linger for a moment, then turn and disappear into the night. Then Dana rolled back against the door and shut her eyes, allowing herself a moment's swim in memory, a moment to feel the echoes of his hands on her. She knew she wasn't at her most rational now. She was too wrapped up in feeling. But the things Terry had said...the way he'd poured out his heart...it felt like commitment. He was going to college with her. It made her nearly tremble with pleasure to think of it. Moving upstairs in the darkness, some corner of her mind wondered why her father had left the lights off when he'd gone out, but she was too lost in feeling to care, so lost that she didn't feel the hand grabbing her until it was already tightly clamped over her mouth.


	17. Chapter 17

Terry woke the next morning, the glow from last night still warming his chest.

Waiting for the monorail train, he weighed the feelings in his heart. She had taken him back. He could still hardly believe it. He almost didn't want to think about it, so unlikely it seemed--if he thought too closely, it might disappear like a soap bubble. He ran the words through his mind over and over, to make sure it had really happened.

It had happened. She'd told him she loved him. There were no words for how it made him feel.

And yet, his conversation earlier with Max gnawed at him. In convincing Dana, he had told her everything. Except the one thing he couldn't. Terry never told her the truth about Batman. He listed out the reasons to himself why he couldn't tell her. They still made sense.

And still, he wished he had told her.

He was contemplating what telling her would mean as he walked onto her street. His thoughts were cut short by two police vehicles parked in front of Dana's house, blue lights flashing. Terry got to the front gate just as three people walked out the front door.

"Him! That's him!"

Mr. Tan rushed past the two officers and grabbed Terry by his jacket.

"What have you done with my daughter this time, McGinnis?"

Terry put up his hands in a placating gesture. "Mr. Tan, please, I don't know what you're--"

One of the officers put her hand on Mr. Tan's arm. "Sir, put the boy down."

Mr. Tan threw Terry against the police car. "He's the reason she's missing. Just ask him!"

Terry rubbed his head. "Dana's missing? But I dropped her off last night, right here. I saw her go inside."

"Then where is she now? Who broke into my house?"

"Mr. Tan, I don't know--"

"The hell you don't. Ever since she started dating you, she has had nothing but trouble. She is abducted by vermin. She is attacked by thugs in clubs. And you do nothing to stop this."

He thrust a finger into Terry's face. "You fail to protect her. And for this...for this she loves you."

Terry gaped, trying to find words, but before he could the woman cop stepped in. "Mr. Tan, please--the longer we take, the more time we waste before we start looking." She turned to Terry. "You're the boyfriend?"

Terry nodded.

"Alright. Bettancourt, I'll take a statement from him at the station. You finish up with Mr. Tan."

She opened the door to the police cruiser as the other officer led Dana's father back to the house. When they got to the door, Mr. Tan turned back to Terry. Perhaps a saint might have found warmth in his look, but Terry McGinnis couldn't.

The look on the officer's face was neutral. Compared to Mr. Tan, it was almost radiant. Terry got into the vehicle without a word, putting his book bag in his lap. He heard her enter and close the door on the other side, but it seemed far away. The only thing close was the question in his mind.

_Where is Dana?_


	18. Chapter 18

The sun filled the sky over her head, every cubic inch of air drowning in its radiance. She took another dive into the crystal waters, deeper, deeper into the water, away from the light, away from the brightness, darkness growing around her, holding her breath as long as she could, and then thrust herself upward, up and up and up into the light, and broke the surface and drank in the rich salty air.

She had been to this beach several times as a child, always with her mother and father, and always they had admonished her to stay close to the shore, within their protection. And always she had obeyed at first, to appease them. But the water's song proved too tempting. She would drift further out into the deeper waters, and dive and pretend she couldn't hear them. Even now, she could see them on the shore, her mother frantically waving her arms, her father cupping his hands to his face, shouting something.

Dana waved and pretended to misunderstand them and dove again, thrusting her body downward, moving sleekly into the depths. She felt she could stay down here forever, away from her mother, her father, all of the struggles of her life. Further she pushed, heedless of the growing gloom, until her lungs were ready to burst. Reluctantly, she turned to surface once again.

Only she couldn't. Something had grabbed her, pinning her arms. She was pulled still further into the murky underwater, away from the air, away from the sun, away from the light. She struggled, and the thing that held her only gripped tighter, pulling her down, down, down. She had run out of air, her throat was burning, gasping for air, but she daren't open her mouth or it would fill with the briny water.

There was no light now, only the murk and her thrashing body and the thing that pulled harder still. She could not escape. But she needed air so badly; she needed to escape, to surface, to scream. Her brain commanded her mouth to stay closed, but it disobeyed, and the scream came, strangely muffled and abrupt.

She did not drown. Gasping, Dana slowly realized she was not underwater. Air filled her nose, dank and fetid air, but breathable.

She was lying on her belly, arms pinned to her sides by a length of sodden rope. Rope also bound her wrists together behind her waist, likewise her ankles. A damp gag clogged her mouth; that was why her scream sounded so strange.

Turning her head, she became aware of an intense throbbing behind her temples. She nearly cried out again from the pain. Dana shut her eyes, stilling herself against the crampy waves that radiated from her stomach.

Slowly, tenderly, she rolled onto her side. Where was she? She could see nothing. She wondered if she was blindfolded as well. Wherever it was, it was cold and damp. She was lying on what felt like concrete, the floor covered in a sticky, slimy substance. She was certain she didn't want to know what it was.

As Dana lay on her side she became aware of a throbbing in her thigh. _Someone injected me_, she thought. No wonder she'd been unconscious. The pre-med training kicked in: she'd probably been shot up with some sort of injected anesthetic, probably thiopental or maybe methohexital, maybe 280 milligrams... In the midst of her panic, her brain regurgitated the useless facts she'd been memorizing for pre-med prep: thiopental was a barbiturate, also known as trapanal, CAS number 76-75-5; it had a half life between 5 and 26 hours, and was typically administered by injection before surgery. Side effects included nausea, headache, airway obstruction...

With that her brain stopped short. _Whoever did this doped me up and then left me alone, _Dana thought. _Jesus. I could have..._

The sudden light was harsh and blinding, and cut through Dana's eyelids like a scalpel. She could hear a door opening. Blinking, she could just see a girl her own age entering, dressed up for all the world like a rag doll.


	19. Chapter 19

The squad room was quiet, most of the desks standing empty. Not vacant, but left unattended. Nine A.M. was working hours for police detectives, and only one other officer was at his desk, a slouchy guy with a day's worth of stubble, hunched over a battered computer terminal, his desk a mess of disks and paperwork.

Lieutenant Phillips' desk, on the other hand, was neat and orderly, suggesting a careful approach to her work. Terry sat in the narrow chair beside it. It wasn't much more comfortable than the bench outside Nakamura's office.

"So you and Ms. Tan were out until midnight?"

Phillips' voice was clear, without a trace of accent. It was cool, precise, implying that warmth might be available if the situation warranted it, but not an ounce until then. She wore plainclothes, like most police officers working Investigations, and they were just the right sort of nondescript. Functional, without calling attention to her. The only personal touch was a wedding band on her left ring finger.

She focused clear eyes on Terry. He realized she was waiting for his answer.

"Yes, close to midnight. Whenever Geronimo's closed, they chased us out of there. We were the last people there."

"And you went straight to her house?"

"Yes. We walked. It would have taken about twenty minutes."

"Did anyone see you at the restaurant?"

"Well...yeah, the waitress. She's the one who hinted we leave, so she saw us there when it closed."

Phillips nodded, and made a note on her computer screen.

"I see. And then you walked her home. You said you saw her enter her house. Did you go in with her?"

"No, I watched from her gate. She went inside, shut the door, and..." Terry shrugged. "That's the last time I saw her."

"What did you do after that?"

"I went home. Took the red line monorail." Terry habitually went home before putting on the suit for patrol, and now he was glad for habits. His credit records would prove he'd been on that train.

Lieutenant Phillips typed at her computer for a few minutes, leaving Terry alone with his thoughts. She clearly wasn't going to go to any trouble to make him feel comfortable. And his thoughts weren't comforting in and of themselves. Where could Dana have gone? It wasn't like her to leave her father without any notice. She wasn't impulsive, prone to taking off alone. In fact, the only time anything like this had happened before was when that kid Patrick had taken her. And it couldn't be him--he'd been arrested afterwards, sentenced for several years. But if it wasn't that, where had she gone?

The more he thought about it all, the more wrong it seemed.

"Mr. McGinnis?"

Terry realized she had been trying to get his attention.

"You're late for school, aren't you?"

"Yes...I'm missing first period."

"I'll drive you to school, explain things to the front office."

He followed her outside, where they got into an unmarked police cruiser.

"Where could she be," he said, his thoughts escaping his mind.

"Kids like this often turn up after a day or two," Phillips said, mistaking his inner reverie for something else. "I wouldn't worry, Mr. McGinnis."

She sounded confident. Terry wondered if she really was. He knew he wasn't.

The rest of the trip to Hamilton Hill High School went by in silence. She pulled up in the front drive, parking in one of the slots marked "Official Vehicles Only."

Phillips turned to Terry. "You're the young man who got the police commendation a year or so ago, aren't you?"

Terry glanced at her and nodded. "Yes, ma'am. That's me." He had opened the door to leave, but she seemed about to ask something. He waited.

"You got to meet Commissioner Gordon?"

"Yes, I did. She presented the award. Have you?"

"Only a couple times. It's a busy department." She nodded. "She's a good cop."

Terry was quiet, gathering up his book bag. "I certainly think so."


	20. Chapter 20

The rope around her ankles would not come undone.

It had taken Dana several minutes to slip her hand free of the rope binding her wrists. It was tight, but it had absorbed the water from the floor and grown slack. Slowly, patiently, she had wriggled her left hand until it came loose, so sore her wrists were oozing in a couple places, but free.

After that, the rope around her chest came off easily, but there was a knot in the ankle rope that wouldn't...come...loose..._there_.

She took off the sodden gag, trying to get the fuzzy taste from her mouth. Rubbing her wrist, Dana looked around the space she was in. It was some sort of janitor's storeroom, rather large, maybe eight by ten feet. It was divided roughly in half by a sort of wire mesh fence bolted to the floor and ceiling. A gate in the middle opened inward. She tried it. It was locked.

On her side there was nothing but an empty bucket and a wadded up sleeping bag. An ancient grimy sink stood in the corner. She turned the rusted faucet. Nothing came out. Dana shrugged.

She wrapped her fingers around the mesh fence and looked beyond. There was little else on the other side: an ancient roll top desk with a wooden chair, a couple mops, some collapsing boxes. A single naked bulb hung from the ceiling, providing the only light. The walls were cinder block, dingy brown with age. The ceiling was covered in cheap tiles that had fallen to the concrete floor in several places.

The only door into the room was on the other side of the fence. It was through there that the clown girl had come. Dana shuddered at the memory. She hadn't said a word, just opened the gate, grabbed her by the hair and pushed her against the wall. And then she'd taken out a cell phone and shot a few pictures, her mouth twisted in a grin. Bound and gagged, still wearing the flimsy dress she'd worn to meet Terry, Dana had felt as exposed as if she'd been photographed naked.

The girl had then pinched her on the cheek and left. The light remained on. And Dana had worked to untie herself.

Dana sat down and leaned against the fence. The nausea welled up in her and she closed her eyes, trying to focus. Most of what she knew had come back while she worked off the rope. She had come back to her house with Terry. The house had been dark, and she'd wondered where her father was. But dad sometimes went out late to the office downtown; she hadn't thought anything of it at the time.

She'd punched in the security code. Now she remembered that the system wasn't armed. That was strange--her father was fanatical about using the alarm. But she'd been so wrapped up in Terry...

_I was so wrapped up I didn't notice anything until it was too late._ Someone had grabbed her from behind and wrestled with her. The clown girl. She was strong. But Dana struggled, and they ended up on the floor. And then she'd felt something jab her from behind...

She rubbed the sore spot on her thigh. _She drugged me_, Dana thought. _She brought me here and dumped me while I was still on anesthetic._ The thought chilled her more than the abduction. _I could have choked to death, and this person didn't care_.

She'd been in bad situations before. She remembered more than a year ago, when that creepy ratboy had kidnapped her. Only...only Patrick had not been just crazy...he'd been sloppy. He liked her, and Dana had been able to use that. She'd managed to trick him into leaving her alone, and she'd nearly escaped.

Dana hugged herself. This girl...she wasn't like that. She was smarter than Patrick, more ruthless. She couldn't manipulate this girl.

There was a noise at the door, and Dana turned to see the girl walk into the room. She came to the cage door and unlocked it.

"Untied yourself, huh?" It was the first thing she had said to Dana.

Dana could now see she had a brown bag with her. She shut the door and leaned her back against it.

"Here." She tossed the bag onto the floor in front of Dana. "I figured you'd be hungry."

Dana sat forward, taking the bag. Inside the bag there was a cheeseburger in foil from some no-name take-out place, a bag of fries, and can of cola. Dana could feel her tongue recoil, but her stomach churned with hunger. It wanted food.

Dana opened the cola. She was surprised to notice her hands did not shake. It pleased her.

"So go on," the clown girl said, "eat."

She took a sip. It tasted like battery acid.

Dana could not make eye contact with her. She unwrapped the cheeseburger. She could smell the mustard. Dana hated mustard. But she took a bite. Her stomach growled like an animal, anticipating the protein, grateful for the sustenance.

She wondered at this farce, sitting here eating a greasy meal on the floor with her own kidnapper standing over her, and the two of them acting like nothing was wrong. She hated this girl, this Raggedy-Ann reject who stood over her with a bored look as if she'd seen it all before. _She took me from my house. She shot me full of drugs. And now I'm supposed to be happy about a damn greasy cheeseburger. With mustard. And I HATE mustard!_

But she said none of these things. It was hard to swallow, but she managed to get some of the burger down. Apparently satisfied, the clown girl turned to leave.

"Wait." She turned to see Dana looking up at her. As she did, Dana's eyes darted away. "I just ate. I'm...I'm going to have to...to use the..."

Dana trailed off. The clown girl said nothing, just raised an eyebrow. There was a hint of a smirk on her face.

Dana could feel her anger burning. She looked the clown girl in the eye. "I'm going to need to use the bathroom."

The clown girl remained silent. She pulled a large knife from a holster on her ankle. She held it for a moment, still smirking. Then she picked up the bucket, using the knife to lift it by the handle. She carried it in front of Dana and set it down with a flourish.

Dana eyed the bucket, then looked at the girl. "That's disgusting."

"You're not here for the accommodations, princess." Her smile was even wider.

"Why AM I here?"

The smile faded. She grabbed a length of Dana's hair and pulled back. With the tip of the knife she raised Dana's chin until it was an inch from her face.

"You'll find out soon enough."

From this close, Dana could see the thickness of her white makeup. She let Dana go and went through the gate, locking it behind her.

Dana tried to steady her breathing. "At least tell me your name!"

The clown girl paused with the far door open. "You can call me DeeDee." And she closed the door, and Dana could hear her bolting it shut.


	21. Chapter 21

Batman tried the window to Dana's room. Despite the chill in the air, it was cracked open, and he had no trouble getting inside.

He looked around the space, taking it in. He'd been up here a few times, but it felt alien, private. There wasn't much to see--no obvious signs of struggle other than a stuffed tiger that had fallen to the floor beside the bed.

He had arrived at school after being questioned, unsure what to think. If Dana was missing, it was bad. It had certainly been bad the last time. But he had to check if she'd turn up in class. And he needed to talk to Max.

She wasn't there. Max had no idea where she was. Neither did anyone else. He asked Max to trace Dana's cell. She'd been ticked when he wouldn't explain why, but agreed anyway.

At one o'clock, he couldn't stand it any longer. He ditched school for the rest of the day, wondering what Nakamura would think. But Terry couldn't worry about that now.

He'd spent the rest of the day searching their usual hangouts. No one had seen her. Finally, he'd put on the suit and come here.

He sifted through her sanctum, feeling like a voyeur. In her private life there were such odd juxtapositions. On her bed the sheets were made but the pillows were rumpled. Massive textbooks for her medical training lay on her desk next to the cheap fantasy and sci-fi paperbacks she liked to read. And on the wall, family pictures from her childhood vied with--

Terry paused. Pinned over her desk was a photo of Dana with Terry behind her. Terry held two fingers up behind her head; Dana fixed the camera with a wide eyed leer. Both looked on the verge of breaking up with laughter.

He remembered taking that picture with her. A cheap booth on the wharf, the night still muggy with August heat. It seemed like a lifetime ago. But it had only been last summer.

A noise brought Batman back to the present. Someone was in the hall outside. He made it out the window just as he heard the door open.

"Dana?"

He recognized her father's voice. The contempt he'd heard this morning was replaced with something forlorn. Crouching on the roof, he could just see the man as he came to the window and looked out.

He thought Mr. Tan would say something. His face was frozen in a mask. Tears would have been less revealing. But he stood silent for a few moments, shook his head, and closed the window.

"Batman?"

He rose from his crouch. "Yeah, Max. You got something?"

"You gave me Dana's cell phone number. You wanted me to trace it."

Terry paused. "And?"

"Somebody just turned it on."

He stood up. "Where?"

"On the West Side. Terry, what's this about?"

"Nothing. I just need to find her. Where on the West Side?"

There was silence on the radio. "Max?"

"You think something's happened to her, don't you?"

"I don't know. What makes you think so?"

"This is how you were the last time."

"Max..."

"GPS puts the phone at 217 West Belmont."

Terry was about to fly off of the roof, but he paused. "Did you say 217 Belmont?"

"Yeah. Probably a convenience store or something."

He shook his head. "Not any more."


	22. Chapter 22

The front of the building was stained black, weather-beaten plywood covering the windows. Another slab of plywood covered the door, a massive padlock hanging from one side. The street was nearly deserted. A single sodium lamp flickered at the street corner. Crouched on the roof of the building across the street, Terry could read a rusted sign over the door, half-falling off its mounts: _Spitelli's Finer Liquors_.

_God, no,_ he thought. _Not this._ He spoke over the link. "You're sure her phone is in there?"

"The phone's transponder has resolution within six meters. It's in there," Max answered. "What's the problem?"

Terry took slightly too long to respond. "This neighborhood is a T's hangout. I'll have to go in. Why don't you turn on the video?"

"How are you going to get in? If she's in there, going in through the front..."

"I know. There's an entrance from the back." He activated the suit's camouflage and took a graceful leap, soaring on his wings into the alley alongside the building.

"You sure know a lot about this place."

Terry didn't respond.

The back of the building was even uglier, if such a thing were possible. The rear door stood open about a foot.

"I don't like this. It's like nobody's here. Something's not right."

"That goes without saying, doesn't it?" came her reply.

He turned off the camouflage. "I'm going in."

"Be careful."

"No kidding," he said, pulling the door open.

Unseen by Batman, a figure a peered out from behind the next building, his face painted with the form of a large 'T'.

*****************

Through the vid-link, Max could see what Terry saw: a gray-green view of a filthy storeroom. Shelves long emptied by looters stood at odd angles, covered in a thick layer of dust. A mop so caked in mold she could almost smell it stood in soapstone sink.

She could see him proceeding towards a doorway. "Terry, shouldn't you be looking around?"

"I think I know what I'm going to find," he said.

The door was a half panel, mounted on a swinging hinge. It squeaked slightly as he pushed through it, entering the main part of the store. There were more half-height shelves, faintly lit by light slipping through cracks in the plywood. The walls were lined with glass-doored refrigerators, most cracked and broken. In the night-vision image, Max could see animal tracks running across the floor.

"What? What do you think you'll find?"

Terry turned to the ancient Formica sales counter. A silver cell phone rested atop it, its message waiting light flashing brightly in the night-scope.

He picked up the phone. "This."

"That's Dana's."

"Exactly." He flipped the phone open. It obediently sprang to life and played a merry tone. _One message waiting_ read the display.

He tapped the 'Read' button, and a grainy picture came on the screen. Terry could feel his stomach clench. Dana's face and upper body filled the screen, her mouth covered with wide gray tape, the flesh around her right eye swollen and slightly green. Fear was plain in her eyes. Her arms were tied behind her. Taped to her front was a piece of white paper with a crude, grinning smiley face, the eyes X'ed out, scrawled in red by a careless hand.

A single line of text appeared below the image: _fnd her if u can._

"My god," Max breathed, image bright on her screen. "Terry, somebody has her."

"Not just anybody. I know who it is."

"Who? How?"

"It's not just the phone. It's this location. It's all part of the message."

Terry heard a squeaking hinge him. "Be quiet."

"But, Terry--"

"Shh!" he hissed. He turned to find two of the T's behind him, standing in doorway to the storeroom. One was tall, with a scar running under his left eye. His friend was heavier, and a sawed-off baseball bat dangled from his hand.

The tall one spoke over his shoulder to the one with the bat. "Well, well. Look who's making a social call, Luis."

Batman raised his hands in front of him. "I didn't come here looking for trouble."

"Aw, but you've come all this way," Scar said. "It would be rude not to offer our hospitality. Right, boys?" he said, raising his voice.

A pistol shot came behind Batman, and someone kicked in the plywood covering the front door. Four more young men, all with the same 'T' marking on their faces came in, carrying guns. Two opened fire.

Batman dove behind the counter, crouching low, when Scar's voice came over the gunfire. "Hey, hey! No need to waste your clips. We can do this nice and personal." Scar walked towards the counter. Batman listened, counting the steps.

"C'mon on out, Batsy, let's play..."

Batman braced himself against the counter, firing the boot rockets behind him. The counter moved forward under the thrust, knocking into Scar and two of the ones who had come through the front door. Before the others could react, he fired a Batarang towards the others at the front, knocking the guns out of their hands.

Sheer white pain filled Terry's head. He fell and spun around to see Luis, both hands now clenched around the bat, his mouth nearly frothing with pleasure. He swung it again, this time into Batman's stomach. Terry could feel blood work its way into his throat.

Scar had gotten back up, and the others joined him is a semi-circle around Batman curled up on the floor.

"Now this...this is what makes it all worthwhile," Scar said in slow drawl.

They picked up pieces of wood from the ruined counter and beat on Batman, preventing him from getting up. Scar leaned close to him. "Doesn't seem so tough to me," he said.

Batman grabbed him by the shirt collar. "Tough as I need to be," he said.

He fired a blade at the ceiling, and there was a loud sound, and then a hole where there had been none. He flew through it, carrying Scar with him.


	23. Chapter 23

They went through the roof and into the sky, Scar dangling at the end of his arm. "Wh-where are you taking me?" he said.

"For a midnight stroll."

They landed on top of one of the trusses of the Gotham Central Bridge. Before Scar could recover, Batman dangled him over the water below, his feet barely hanging onto the iron truss.

He pulled out a cell phone, and held it up to Scar. "I found this in your little clubhouse back there. Know how it got there?"

"I, I don't got no idea, man..."

Scar wriggled, trying to get upright. The movement caught Batman by surprise. He grunted in pain, and his grip on Scar's shirt loosened. Scar cried out in fear.

Batman looked at him with a dark smile, still wincing. "I think your buddy Luis cracked a rib. Probably won't be able to support your weight much longer." Scar looked at the river below him. Batman relaxed his grip a little more.

"Okay, okay!" Scar said. "There...there was a girl hanging around there...a little before you showed up."

"Who?"

"I don't know...she...she looked like one of the Jokerz."

"You let a Joker on T turf?"

"Slate recognized her...said she was real crazy...said she liked to kill people. Kill 'em real slow."

"You were scared of her and not of me?"

Scar gulped. "We know you don't kill people."

Batman pulled him a little closer. "Usually."

He let go of his collar. Scar fell, and screamed, and fell faster, and saw the river rushing up to meet him, and heard something shoot out behind him, and fell even faster, and felt a cord wrap around his feet, and his accelerating body stopped short and he dangled helplessly over the river, waiting for the Gotham City cops to cut him down.


	24. Chapter 24

Dana's eyes opened suddenly, and she blinked, wondering where she was. The moldy sleeping bag was under her cheek. She was still in the room, with the locked door. She had finally fallen asleep, sometime after the single light had been shut off. The switch was outside. Now the light was on again, and Dana could hear someone working the lock. That clown girl, what did she say her name was? As the door opened, it came to Dana's mind. _DeeDee_.

Dana rolled over to face her. She was a few inches taller than Dana, very lean. She was built like a gymnast, her long limbs coiled tight with muscle. And there was a lot of it to see between the tube top and low rise pants she wore. Her boots covered more of her body than the rest of her outfit.

But it was her face that was most captivating. Covered in white makeup, it was even paler than her already paper white skin. The cherubic features were exaggerated with deep rouge on her apple cheeks. The eyes completed the doll effect: they were ice blue, and fiercely alive.

It should have been a lovely face, but it wasn't. It was sickening, a bad joke that parodied loveliness, framed by tangled hair a shade of red that Dana could hardly believe was natural.

Dana brushed a strand of her own jet black hair from her eyes. "What do you want?"

DeeDee's doll eyes seemed amused. "Thought I'd check how you're doing." She glanced at the bucket, now returned to the corner. "Everything come out alright?"

"Very funny."

"I'm all about the laughs, princess." Her doll eyes smiled further. "I'm a Joker, y'know?"

"Hilarious. What does one of the Jokerz want with me?"

DeeDee entered the cage. She tossed another paper sack to Dana. "Eat up and we'll talk."

Dana opened the bag. A carton of yogurt, a pack of carrots, some sort of sandwich. A bottle of water, too.

She popped open the water. "You decided to put me on a health kick?"

DeeDee shrugged. "You didn't seem to like the burger so much."

"So you kidnap me, drug me, and lock me in a room. But you care about my diet. How nice."

"This isn't about you, sweetie. Thought I'd make you comfortable."

"I'd be comfortable if you'd let me go home."

"Aww, does princess miss her daddy's house? Or her little convertible? Or her great big stuffed tiger?"

Dana shivered. "You've been spying on me."

"I was in your house, remember? I know all about you. Where you work, where you sleep, who you know, what classes you take...everything."

Dana stared at the bag in front of her, then looked into those doll eyes. "What do you want from me?"

"I told you: it isn't about you." She locked the cage. "You're just a tool to me."

"Wait! What is this about?! What did my father do to you?"

"This isn't about your fat-ass daddy, either."

"Then who?"

DeeDee paused. "Silly little Dana. Haven't you figured it out? This is about your boyfriend."

She shut the door. As the light switched off, Dana sank to her knees.

_Terry?_


	25. Chapter 25

"Matt, honey," Mary whispered. "Are you still awake?"

She watched his darkened bed from the door. The boy rolled over in sleep, but did not hear her. She shut the door, satisfied.

A few moments after it closed, Matt sat up, watching the door. Mom always fell for that. He crept over to the door, placing his ear against it.

"...I know, Mom, but I-I need to go out one last time. Mr. Wayne needs me."

"I just don't like these errands he has you doing. It's eleven o'clock, for goodness sake."

"Mom, please...I have to--"

"Yes, I know. It's good that you're such a dedicated employee. I sometimes think he takes advantage of you."

Terry was quiet for a moment. "Maybe. But please, I need to--"

"Alright, go. Just try and be back by a reasonable hour."

"I'll try."

Matt could hear the sounds of their mother going to her bedroom; of Terry gathering his things, keys jingling; of Terry shutting the front door. And, after a minute, the sound of Terry on the sidewalk, outside of his bedroom window. And then a phone ringing.

Terry answered. "Yeah, Max....I'm going to look for Dana again...no, there's a bar on the east side, right by pier 19...it was on a list of places the old man knew about...I don't know, she might be there....What other choice do I have?"

Matt listened, fascinated, as their conversation wrapped up. Then he could hear Terry start his motorcycle, and listened to it roar away in the night.

So. He wasn't working for Mr. Wayne at all. He was going to meet Dana. If his mother knew about this...

_If I tell her, she won't believe me_, Matt thought. He looked at his camera, sitting on the desk. He'd have to get proof. Then Terry would be in big trouble. And Mary would ground him, and he'd stay home more, and...

Matt had long ago figured out how to sneak out of his bedroom window, crawling down the drainpipe. He pulled on his shirt and pants, dressing as quietly as possible. Putting the camera in his back pocket, he gently opened the window.

* * *

The view of the street was dim from up here, but she could see well enough. Terry came out the front door of the apartment, walking towards his cycle. Then the sound of ringing came to her. Terry stopped and pulled out a phone. "Yeah, Max...I'm going to look for Dana again..."

DeeDee listened to the brief conversation play out, hidden out of sight in the shadow of building's chimney. It wasn't really such a surprise he still hadn't seen her tracking him most nights. She'd learned from the best, after all: one of the Triad, stuck in Juvie after she'd been betrayed by the others in her clan. DeeDee could hide almost anywhere when she wanted. It made it easy to track McGinnis, watch him twist as he searched for his beloved little Dana.

Out of sight behind the building, Terry started his cycle. He roared past, headed towards the docks. She knew the place he was headed. It was a stretch to think she'd be there, but she couldn't resist the chance to see McGinnis try his fate in that hellhole. DeeDee had her own transportation stowed nearby. She was moving towards it when something at the McGinnis house caught her eye.

A boy squeezed out of a window and started climbing down the drainpipe. DeeDee stopped to watch as he unchained a bicycle, and took off in the same direction as Terry.

McGinnis' little brother. _Well_, she thought to herself, _this is just too good a chance to pass up..._

* * *

Terry had searched in the two hours since interrogating Scar, and had found nothing. His information had been scanty, little more than confirmation of what he already knew. She knew who he was. She knew, and was attacking the person closest to him.

DeeDee. Deidre and Delia Dennis, identical twins, who went by the collective name DeeDee. They had risen through the Jokerz ranks quickly enough. They were fast, deadly, afraid of nothing. He had been unsurprised to find them when the Joker had returned, or reemerged, or whatever you called what it was he'd done last year. The Joker himself would only have let the deadliest people into his group. And the Deeds surely qualified.

Pushing the motorcycle past the speed limit, he swung into a turn. Of course, referring to them in the plural was no longer accurate. Delia was gone. He'd seen her die.

But he thought Deidre had died, as well.

He'd pushed his usual sources of information, but there was nothing. No one had seen her.

So he had gone back to the cave, digging through old case files, looking for anything that might even offer a whisper of a hint of a clue. And he had discovered the name of an old bar, frequented by the sorts of people who might be able to tell him what he needed to know. A quick directory search showed it was still there today, right on pier 19.

The streets near the docks were slick with oil, and the headlight of the cycle picked out gaping holes in the asphalt as Terry pulled up. A clutter of cars and cycles were parked out front of the shabby brick building, its name picked out in flickering neon: The Stacked Deck. A noise resembling music blasted out of the open door. Heat and sweat came out in a wave.

Terry walked through the door and several people turned to look at him. He had dressed himself in the kind of dark jacket and fingerless gloves favored by most of the synth runners, and hastily spiked his hair with gel once he was out his mother's sight. He tried to remember what Mr. Wayne had taught him about disguise. Don't exaggerate, calling attention to yourself, just draw it away from what is most memorable about you, make something that isn't you stick in their minds.

He had considered busting this place as Batman, but changed his mind. So many people were talking about Batman's recent activity, he might learn more undercover. Considering the stares now greeting him he realized the foolishness of that idea. He was a stranger here. They weren't going to let anything spill.

He thought of Dana. He remembered how she'd felt, wrapped in his arms.

He continued inside. He had to try.

Terry made his way to the bar. The bartender wore a military beret, his posture erect, his eyes doubtful.

"Um....a beer." He tried to make his voice sound husky.

The bartender eyed him impassively. "You got an ID, kid?"

Terry squared his shoulders. "Since when does the Stacked Deck card anyone?"

The bartender said nothing, but put a bottle on the bar. "Four creds," he said.

He gave a credit token to the barkeep, who rang it up and returned the card to him. He took a pull from the bottle. It had been some time since he'd drunk beer, at least as far back as before his time in juvie, when he'd hung out with Charlie. It tasted about like he remembered. But he didn't want to get drunk tonight, not for what he was trying to do. This was merely cover.

And it was working, somewhat. Once he'd gotten the bottle without incident, most of the crowd had returned to their own interests . Terry moved to the corner of the bar, trying to avoid the stale cigarette smoke.

It was almost an hour before someone else came in: two more kids from his own high school, apparently already intoxicated. They strutted up to the bar. "Hey, Gunny! Give us a couple rounds, y'know?" The bartender put two more bottles on the bar, not bothering to card them. _Only does it with people he doesn't know, I guess_, Terry thought.

The two kids were both lean and tightly strung. Expensive, gaudy clothes hung from their frames. Their markings affiliated them with none of the gangs; they were just high school kids, out looking for a cheap drink.

Terry nursed the beer, keeping to himself. One of the kids kept nudging the other, throwing glances at Terry. He ignored them.

Someone pounded on the ancient jukebox, and a thudding beat filled the room. The kid who had been nudging his pal had to speak loudly to make himself heard. "Hey, I know you."

Terry turned away.

"You're that guy that nearly got in a fight with Nash today," he said.

"Wasn't me."

"Sure it was," the kid continued. "Think you're pretty tough, facing down a guy like Nash?"

Setting his drink down, Terry headed for the door. "I've got nothing to say."

"Hey! Don't walk away from me, dreg." The kid made a motion with the bottle in his hand, and Terry instinctively ducked. The bottle stayed in the kid's hand, but the beer inside hit a guy in a sleeveless jean jacket, bandanna on his head.

Terry stood up and watched the kid make a placating gesture to the guy in the jacket. "Hey, sorry man, it was an accident."

The guy in the jacket got out of his booth, hauling a pool cue behind him. "Too bad. I'm gonna feel real tough, beating up a guy like you." Terry hit the floor just before the guy swung the cue.


	26. Chapter 26

Pumping the pedals on his bike, Matt squeaked down the street. It wasn't the bike he'd wanted. He'd wanted a cool BMX bike, black, with the beartrap pedals and hand brakes. Instead, he had the same old bicycle Terry had owned, red, with a kickstand that didn't quite work.

That's how it always was. He lived in Terry's shadow, getting his hand me downs, riding his bike, wearing his clothes. At school, teachers remembered Terry. Relatives always said how much he looked like his brother. Everything he got was Terry's leftovers. Even when Terry paid attention to him, it was as if he was only giving Matt whatever scraps of time he had no other use for.

He hated his brother. It was why he made fun of Terry all the time, called him dork, twip, and so forth. Before their parents divorced, Terry had always had time for him. They'd played, they'd hung out, they'd fought certainly, but it was the kind of fight that was always forgotten by supper time.

But when things had really started getting bad with their parents, Terry had changed, too. He'd gotten distant, surly. He wouldn't talk anymore. After the divorce, he'd lived with them for a few months, but it wasn't working. He'd be gone overnight; Mom would be frantic, and then he'd turn up in the morning, none the worse for wear, but Mom was furious. Matt had tried to understand, tried to be patient. He just missed his brother; he wanted back the Terry he remembered.

And then one morning, he didn't come back. Mary had called the police; they finally learned that he'd been picked up by the cops. And before Matt knew it, his brother was in jail.

That was when Matt finally decided he hated his brother.

When he got out, Terry didn't live with them anymore. He lived with Dad instead. And it had stayed that way until their father had died. Matt had finally gotten used to having the house to himself; he felt like an only child. He liked it, in a way. But Terry came back again, and Matt couldn't feel anything but envy and resentment for this stranger in his house: anger over what Terry had turned into, envy for what he was now. He still wanted the brother he'd known when he was five.

Which was why he was here. He turned his bike around a corner and there was Terry's motorcycle, outside a dingy bar. Matt knew Terry wasn't supposed to be at a place like this. If his mother knew about this, she wouldn't let Terry out of her sight for months. She'd probably even make him quit that job for Mr. Wayne.

Of course, Terry would be pretty angry with him. But at least he'd be home again. Maybe he'd be more like he used to be.

Matt parked his bike behind a dumpster in an alley across the street from the bar. He got out his camera and focused through the viewfinder. It was a pretty good shot. He would just wait for Terry to come out, snap a few photos, and--

"Well, what have we got here?"

Matt turned to see three people, faces painted up like clowns. The tallest leaned over. "Out past your bedtime, aren't you?"

Matt drew himself up with more courage than he actually felt. He remembered how many times Mom had warned him about gang members like this. But he wasn't going to be pushed around by someone in pancake makeup and a fool's cap. He put his hands on his hips and looked this clown right in the eye.

"So what? You're out past yours."

The two Jokerz behind the leader started laughing. The leader straightened up. "Hey, he's a comedian. Maybe we should let him join."

Matt climbed onto his bike. "Forget it. I don't like clowns."

The head Joker grabbed the handlebars of the bike, blocking his way. "Hey, what's the hurry? I bet we can change your mind."

"Hey, leave me alone!" Matt tried to back away, but the man's grip on the bike was firm.

"Aww, now you've hurt my feelings." He smiled to his friends. "Playtime, boys." One of the Jokerz pulled out a chain. He moved towards Matt. The boy cowered, unsure what to do.

Abruptly, the Joker with the chain fell to ground, giving a faint groan. Matt looked up to see a girl, her face done up like the others, landing on the fallen Joker. Before he really understood what had happened, the other two were running off, one clutching his arm.

She turned to face the boy. Her face was done up like a Raggedy Ann doll.

"Hello, Matt," she smiled.


	27. Chapter 27

Terry crawled out the door of the bar on his hands and knees. Chaos still reigned inside. Confident that no one had followed him, he straightened up.

_That was pointless_, he thought to himself. He had learned nothing about DeeDee. He'd gotten a black eye from some overenthusiastic biker before getting to the door. And he was going to have to avoid the cops whose sirens he could now hear in the distance.

He walked over to his motorcycle, and found it flipped on its side, headlight shattered, windscreen in pieces. _Terrific_, he thought. _Vandals_.

Spray paint decorated much of the body. It was a moment before he realized the symbol it formed: a circle in the form of a smiley face, the eyes X'd out.

Dread hit him: she'd been here. She'd been right outside while he'd been fighting in that damned bar. She was taunting him, following him, daring him to find her. In that moment, hatred filled his veins. He was going to find her, and put an end to this, once and for all. He looked around, searching for her, but could see nothing.

Taped to the gas tank was a note, written in red ink:

_Dock 12. One hour._

His motorcycle would not start. He looked for a place to put on the suit.

* * *

Dock 12 was a steel yard, closed in the wake of the last recession. Terry soared over the barbed wire fence, landing on the catwalk of a crane inside the fence. He scanned the yard, infrared images filling his visor. DeeDee must be here somewhere. He didn't want to give her the advantage.

Bright light nearly blinded him. So much for the advantage.

He squinted, and the light source resolved into a single spotlight at the corner of the yard. "Hey, Batman," came DeeDee's voice. "Thought I'd bring someone along to keep you company." The spotlight swung out of his eyes and into the center of the yard, where it picked up a small figure on the train tracks running through the yard, struggling. Dana? No, too small. And it looked like a boy...

With sudden fear, he flew over to the form. Even in the dim light, Terry recognized his brother. Matt's eyes were filled with something he rarely saw there. Terror.

Chains held him to the railroad track. Was this track still active? Terry was aware of the sound of a machine being started behind him. He pulled the gag out of Matt's mouth. "Don't panic. I'll get you out of here--"

"Batman, look out!" Matt said.

Terry looked over his shoulder in time to see a steel girder flying toward him, but it was too late to react. It was all Terry could do to deflect the beam from hitting Matt. He landed on his back, head ringing. He sat up and his cracked rib sang out in pain. But there was no time, another beam was coming through the air. Terry ran forward to meet it, pulling the heavy steel to the ground.

Where were they coming from? He had to draw the attack away from Matt. The noise of heavy machinery came from across the yard. He searched, then found it: a Golem lifting machine, standing behind a pile of steel girders. As he watched, it lifted another, preparing to throw.

_Not another one of these_, Terry thought.

It threw the beam towards him. This time, Terry caught it in midair, driving it into the ground like a spike. He perched on its end and launched a blade at the electric eye in the Golem's upper torso. There was a shower of sparks, and it dropped the beam it held, lurching unsteadily into a concrete post next to it.

Where was DeeDee? He looked into the spotlight and squinted. In the shadows next to it, he could make out a dim figure, starting to run. Terry launched himself towards her, catching DeeDee in a flying tackle.

They landed in the dirt, with him on top of her. He turned her leonine figure over to face him.

She gave him a sickly sweet smile. "Oooh, you like it rough, don't you?"

"Where is she?" he said.

"You mean your little girlfriend, Terry? She's in good hands."

"What have you done with her?"

"Oh, I can show you, Terry." She pointed behind him. "But you might want to check on baby Matt over there."

Terry looked where she pointed. The post the Golem had run into was buckling, and the massive steel bin it supported was about to tumble forward into the yard--right onto Matt.

She smiled again. "What's it gonna be, hero?"

Terry launched himself towards the bin. He rammed into it just as it collapsed, its weight resisting him, inertia fighting him every inch of the way, but he had to get it out of Matt's path, it was his only chance, c'mon, _move_!

He fired the rockets, pushing with everything he had. It hit the ground with an impact he felt more than heard. Afraid of what he'd see, he looked at the ground and felt an indescribable relief. The bin had missed Matt by inches. Terry landed, about to free the boy.

And then the bin gave a groan, the sound of rusted steel pushed beyond its stress point, and ruptured. And Terry watched as his brother was buried in a ton of scrap iron.


	28. Chapter 28

Mary McGinnis slumped against the wall head in her hands, shaking it gently. "I can't...I can't go through with this..."

She had said some version of this several times now. But it was somehow harder each time Terry heard it.

The hospital waiting room was just as he remembered it. Some rerun played meaninglessly on a screen in the corner. A white noise machine made calming sounds in the opposite corner. Magazines were scattered across the little end tables. It was all clean, comfortable, well lit, and completely uninviting.

His eyes moved across the room, finally arriving at Mary. She turned away, but before she did, Terry caught a glimpse of...what? Anger? Suspicion? Had he imagined it?

Terry looked at his mother, unable to think of anything to say. Or rather, he could think of many things, but couldn't bring himself to say any of them out loud. So he stood next to her in silence, squeezing her hand.

She withdrew her hand. Again, he thought there was something in her eyes he could not name.

Sighing, he reflected on how little had changed. This felt exactly like the last time they'd been here, waiting for a doctor to come through the door and tell them that Warren McGinnis had died on the operating table, as doctors tried to repair the damage after the attack.

That night had been awful. He'd returned to his father's apartment to find his mother with several Gotham City cops. They wouldn't let him in the apartment, wouldn't let him though, but he'd forced his way in and found the EMTs loading his father onto a stretcher. After that, his memory was a blur: his father bloody and broken, an EMT snarling at him to get out of the way, someone pulling him aside when he didn't react, the cops rushing him and his mother in a squad car behind the ambulance, and finally ending up in this very room, waiting for news...

Tonight had been much the same...a blur. Terry could only remember what had happened as though he were watching a movie of himself. He had dug through the scrap iron that buried Matt, frantic, praying that he had somehow survived. After several minutes, he'd found the boy, covered in blood, his right leg bent at an unnatural angle. Blood bubbled from his mouth; his breathing was ragged and unnatural, but at least it was there. He could hear sirens in the distance, converging on the steel yard, but Terry had not waited. With strength that could only come from the suit, he ripped the chains still binding Matt to the track, scooped up the boy, and flew straight to Gotham Central.

He'd carried Matt into ER, not bothering to remove the suit. He'd told them the boy's name and left before they could ask more questions. By the time he'd changed out of the suit and returned, Mary had arrived.

She had been sitting alone in this room. He had gone to her, telling some story of where he'd been, how he'd heard. He'd taken her up in his arms, holding her tightly. She had allowed the embrace, but not returned it, and had said not a word. That had been three hours ago.

A man in surgical greens and a cap walked through the door. "Mary McGinnis?"

She stood up a little, collected herself. "Y-yes?"

He offered his hand. "I'm Dr. Graham. We just finished surgery on your son."

She swallowed. "How is he? How is Matt?"

Dr. Graham was silent for a moment. "First of all, we think he'll live. He lost a lot of blood, and it was pretty iffy for a while. But at least he'll live."

Mary seemed to relax, letting out a deep breath. Terry hadn't realized until that moment he was clenching his fists.

After a moment, Mary opened her eyes. "Can we see him?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid he's in a drug induced coma. He's still in a lot of pain. He wouldn't be able to respond to you."

"I don't care. I want to see him."

Dr. Graham hesitated. "Ms. McGinnis, I'm afraid it isn't that simple...."

Mary looked at him, face hard. "What is it? There's something you're not telling me, isn't there. What?"

The doctor looked uncomfortable.

"What is the matter with my son?"

Dr. Graham gestured to one of the couches.

"From what we can tell, your son was crushed under a massive amount of corroded steel. Both legs were crushed. The femoral artery in his left leg was lacerated, and he developed a rampant staphylococcus infection in that area of the body. I'm...I'm afraid his legs were damaged beyond repair."

Mary gazed at him for several moments, shaking her head. "No...No..." she began to moan.

Terry cleared his throat. "Will...will he ever walk again?"

Dr. Graham sighed. "With physical therapy and prosthetics, he very likely will be able to recover sufficient mobility to--"

"Is he going to walk?" Terry could hear his own voice rising.

The doctor fixed him with a stare. "Both legs were amputated above the knee. Matthew McGinnis is never going to walk the same way again. I'm sorry."

Mary began to sob, burying her face in her hands. She sank onto a chair. Terry tried to gather her up. She fought him off, trying to push away his arms, but he persisted, and finally she capitulated, surrendering to his embrace, and as the doctor again offered his apologies, they clung to each other in the sterile waiting room, beneath the fluorescent hum.


	29. Chapter 29

Twenty minutes later, Commissioner Gordon showed up with a uniformed officer. She ordered the beat cop to interview Mary McGinnis and told Terry to come with her into the hall.

When she had closed the door, Terry looked at her. "The police commissioner came down here to talk to me personally?"

Barbara gazed at Terry levelly. "Batman was seen leaving the Kacpura Steel Works earlier tonight. When GPD arrived, it was obvious a fight had taken place. It also looked like someone had been seriously injured and moved out. Then I catch the report that one Matt McGinnis was brought into Gotham Central, and I figure it wasn't a coincidence.

Terry turned away and faced the wall.

"Then I remember that this morning, Dana Tan was reported missing. And it occurs to me maybe that isn't a coincidence, either."

An orderly moved past them down the hall. Barbara waited until he was out of earshot.

"That's two victims in twenty-four hours. And I figure I ought to talk to the person who connects them."

He hung his head, shaking it slightly.

"Kid, you'd better talk to me. If someone is doing this, you don't have many people to turn to." She paused for a moment. "I know Bruce is in Tokyo."

He looked at her over his shoulder. "That's supposed to be confidential. We made sure the press didn't get wind of it."

"I make it my business to know things. You think I can't keep a secret?"

He nodded to himself, but said nothing.

"Terry. Somebody knows, don't they."

He was silent a moment longer, then turned to face her.

"It's DeeDee."

Barbara blinked. "Delia and Deidre Dennis. But we know Delia is dead."

Terry shut his eyes. "The shoot out at Spitelli's Liquors."

"So it has to be Deidre."

"I thought she was dead, too. I thought...the fire..."

She was quiet for a moment. "How much do you know about it?"

Terry sighed. "She was paroled two months ago, and released into the custody of her grandmother, one Hannah Dennis. Three weeks later, on the 19th, Gotham City Fire Department was called to a blaze at the residence of record for Hannah Dennis, a tenement on the east side. The building burned to the ground; the bodies of eight people were found inside, six pronounced dead at the scene, identities are yet to be verified. Arson was suspected, investigation still in progress. Hannah and Deidre Dennis are assumed to be among the victims."

Barbara gazed at him impassively.

"You think I just play video games in the cave?"

Something that might have been a smile passed over her face. "I don't care to speculate. So there's a body, but we don't know it's her. I'll find out what's holding up the DNA tests. Why do you think it's Deidre?"

"Because I saw her. Tonight. At the steel yard. She used my name. MY name, not Batman. She knows." He turned back to the wall. "She knows who I really am, and--"

"I understand you're upset about your brother," the commissioner interrupted, her voice just slightly too loud. Terry looked at her, and saw another orderly walking by them. "But please try to contain yourself," Barbara continued.

The orderly gave them a curious look, then continued down the hall.

"Let's find a more private spot to discuss this," Barbara said in her normal voice. She gestured down the hall.

* * *

They found some sort of unoccupied alcove used for breaks by the nurses and staff, far enough out of earshot to keep their conversation private.

"How does Dana fit into all of this?" Barbara asked.

Terry's shoulders slumped. "DeeDee has her. Have you found anything?"

"Her father filed the missing person's report this morning. Nothing has turned up yet. You're sure it's DeeDee?"

"It was her. I couldn't believe it at first, but now I'm sure."

"How?"

He told her about encountering the T's, and meeting DeeDee at the scrapyard. She listened without comment.

"We had to cut down that kid from the bridge. I wondered what happened," she said when he was done. "It was Dana's phone?"

"Yeah. And it was at Spitelli's. Where Delia died."

Barbara nodded, to herself more than Terry. She appeared to be thinking.

Terry dropped his face into his hands. "My god...what can I do, Ms. Gordon?"

Before she could answer, another voice intruded. "Oh, there you are, commissioner." Terry looked up to find a plainclothes detective entering the room. "Nagle told me you were out here, interviewing the McGinnis family."

"Yes, Roberto. This is the victim's brother. This is Detective Deleon," she said to Terry.

Terry looked at the man. He was a little over six feet, built lean and firm. His gray suit was plain and businesslike; it had been pressed and creased with care, and fit him perfectly. His black loafers were freshly shined; his hair was perfectly trimmed. He wore rimless glasses on a wide nose that separated a pair of deeply set brown eyes. They now regarded Terry with an absolute seriousness.

"What brought you down here at this ungodly hour, Deleon?" Barbara asked. "Your shift doesn't start until six."

He glanced at the commissioner. "Couldn't sleep. I caught the squeal about the Batman at the pier and decided to come down." He turned back to Terry. "I'm sorry about your brother."

Terry looked away.

"I just spoke with the shift nurse in ER. They say it was Batman who brought him in." Terry shrugged. "Do you know why the Batman would be interested in your brother?"

"Roberto," Barbara said.

"I talked with crime scene squad, sir. They say someone was injured at the pier. It looks like the nature of the injuries is consistent with the injuries of the brother of Mr. McGinnis here." He turned back to Terry. "Have any idea what your nine year old brother was doing at the pier at one in the morning?"

Terry turned to look at him. "I wouldn't know...sir."

"Then maybe you'd--"

"Roberto, enough," Barbara cut him off. "I've already interviewed Terry. He feels bad enough right now. He doesn't need you grilling him." She turned to Terry. "McGinnis, why don't you go back and find your mother. I'll call you if we have any more questions."

He left the room with the uncomfortable feeling of Deleon's eyes upon him.


	30. Chapter 30

Terry found his mother alone in the waiting room, sitting, staring at the television. Her face seemed oddly vacant.

He sat beside her. "Mom...is there any more word about Matt?"

"You lied to me." Her voice was flat.

Terry was silent a moment. "What...what do you--"

Silently, she pointed at the screen. The computer newscaster was speaking in his perpetually chipper voice.

_...and again, in the top financial story of the day, Bruce Wayne, billionaire industrialist and CEO of Wayne Enterprises, has in fact been in a medical facility in Tokyo for the past two weeks. It is alleged that he is recovering from major surgery on his heart and it is not known when or if he will return to his position at one of the cornerstones of Gotham's economy. His absence was kept secret and only revealed to Gotham News by an anonymous tip. In the wake of the apparent cover up, investor confidence in Wayne Enterprises has taken a sharp downturn..._

"It's been on since this evening," his mother said.

Terry shut his eyes. Terrific. Some underling at Wayne Enterprises squealed to the press. So much for keeping the old man's operation a secret.

He opened his eyes. His mother was looking at him, something indecipherable in her eyes. _This is why she was so distant earlier._

At length, she spoke. "You told me you had to run an errand for Mr. Wayne. But you were lying, weren't you. You've been lying for at least two weeks."

Terry hung his head. "Mom, I'm sorry. I...I had to..." He trailed off.

"What were you doing," she asked after a moment.

"I...I went out to meet Dana. She hasn't been able to get out of the house until late, and--"

She shook her head. "You're still lying to me. Dana is missing. Her father called me this evening." When he didn't respond, she asked, "Do you know where she is?"

"No! I was--" He sighed. "You're right. I was lying. I don't know where she is, but I thought...I was looking for her tonight. I thought I could find her. I didn't...I didn't want to worry you." He looked at her. "Mom, I'm sorry...I've been lying to you...and I just...I just--" He cut himself short, hung his head again. "I'm sorry."

For a long while, Mary was silent. When she spoke, her voice was flat again. "Terry...do you know anything about what happened to your brother?"

"Wh--what?"

"Look me in the eye...and tell me you don't know what happened to your brother tonight."

Terry swallowed. He raised his head to look into her eyes, her cold, quiet eyes.

"Mom...I swear...I don't know what happened to Matt."

She continued to look at him, and was silent for an even longer time. Finally, she looked down. "Fine." Mary rose, gathering her purse. "There's nothing more for us to do here. My car's outside, and I'm tired. We may as well go home and try to get some sleep."

"Mom..."

"Terry, please take me home," she said, walking to the door.


	31. Chapter 31

Dana had tried to sleep again, but her brain refused to rest. This was about Terry? Why? What had Terry done to DeeDee--

_DeeDee_. Dana was annoyed to realize that she was using her name, as if they were friends.

But they did have something in common. Terry McGinnis. They apparently had a history. Something Terry had never told her about.

When she thought about it, she realized how little she really knew about Terry. They had first met when they were sophomores, assigned as lab partners in Benson's classroom. Mr. Benson, the world's dullest physics teacher, a former drill sergeant who'd never quite left the Army. They'd had plenty to laugh about while Brickhouse Benson was giving other people demerits for interrupting his droning lectures.

She'd seen Terry around before that, of course, but rarely talked to him. In her freshman year, Dana only had eyes for upper classmen: dangerous seniors, boys with leather jackets and motorcycles, boys who wanted to be Jokerz but were afraid of screwing up their chances for a scholarship. God, she'd been so silly then. Her first year out of that awful private academy, the one her father had wanted her to attend. She'd fought so hard for the right to go to a public school, and what was the first thing she did? Dated every boy she could find who would drive daddy crazy. It wasn't until that night with Vince...

Dana shuddered. That date with Vince taught her a lot. She still hated to think about it. But it was after that that she'd backed off of upper classmen.

It was while talking with Terry while faking their way through the day's lab work that she realized that he liked her. Something in the way he'd smile at the corner of his mouth when telling her a joke said it all. And Dana was even more surprised to realize that she liked him, too, more than any of those Joker wannabes.

They talked a lot back then. She'd told him so much about her own past. And yet, for all those words, he'd revealed little. His parents were divorced, and he lived with his father. He had a little brother who he affected to loathe, but Dana could tell--deep down, Terry cared for the twip.

But there were things he wouldn't talk about. Like Charlie Bigelow.

Charlie had been a senior the year before, and he'd been among the circle of boys she'd dated then. She'd even gone on a date with him once. That was enough. He was a little too creepy, even by her standards at the time.

But Terry was friends with him. In those days, Terry hung around him like Charlie was a prince. He wasn't. Everyone knew Charlie was trying to make it in the gangs. Dana wasn't surprised when she heard they'd been busted. The last month of school, they were gone.

It was awkward to be assigned to Terry as a lab partner next year. At first, they hadn't known what to say to each other. But his humor won her over. Gradually, they opened up to one another.

Eventually he told her about what happened with Charlie. But he was always guarded about it. Talking about it, or about what had happened in juvenile detention.

And now Dana wondered about that time. Had he met DeeDee in there? They obviously knew each other. What had happened in there?

And not for the first time, Dana wondered: _What else hasn't Terry told me?_


	32. Chapter 32

Author's Note: Sorry I'm late with this...it's been a very busy weekend. (BTW, thanks so much for all the comments!)

Max waited by her locker for Terry. He'd been silent since the incident with the T's last night. She knew what he'd found there meant something, that he knew who had Dana. But he'd told her nothing, only checking in on the radio, asking about the net searches he asked her to make. They'd turned up nothing more than what he'd told her: Dana Tan was missing, her whereabouts unknown.

Of course, she'd heard about the accident with Matt last night. It had been given only brief mention in the newsfeeds, but her search agent program had picked it up regardless. There was frustratingly little information in the report, though: only that Batman had carried one Matt McGinnis into the emergency room and immediately left. There were rumors of a Batman sighting at an abandoned steel yard earlier in the evening, but a detective named Deleon, speaking to the press, said the police could not confirm any reports at this time. That had been this morning. Max had immediately called Terry. He didn't answer his phone.

_What isn't he telling me?_ Max thought.

She spotted him moving in the throng of students, and noted the deep circles under his eyes. _He looks even worse than usual_, she thought.

As he passed by her locker, she merged into the stream alongside him. "Terry, what happened last night? I saw about Matt--"

Terry made to move away from her. "I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"What do you mean, you don't want to talk about it? Terry, what's going on? What happened to your brother? And what was that about Dana's cell--"

A warning look flashed in Terry's eyes. She stopped herself, realizing she had almost said too much. They were stopped in the middle of the hall, people flowing around them like water around a stone.

After a moment, Terry nodded his head towards an unoccupied spot on the wall. "Look, I'll tell you about it, but not here, not now," he said, his voice low. "Meet me out front at lunch, okay?"

She nodded. "Alright. But McGinnis, you'd better tell me what's--"

"Hey, McGinnis."

They both turned to find Nash watching them. Hands on his hips, a couple of his football buddies snickering behind him. "Heard your little twip of a brother got hurt last night."

Terry stared at him for a few moments. Then he turned his back on the jock. "Leave me alone, Nash."

"What happened?" Nash continued. "Did he have to fight your battle for you after you slunk away? Did he trip on your slime trail, like Dana?"

At that, Terry stopped. A circle of students was forming around them, Max noticed, scenting a fight in the air. "Nelson, just let it go," she said. She could sense Terry trembling.

"Why don't you park it, Gibson? But then I guess that's how you do things, isn't it McGinnis? Always let someone else end your fights for you." He took a step closer, letting his voice drop. "Now Dana is missing. What have you done about it?"

Terry turned around very slowly. Max put a hand on his arm. He shook it off. There was a look in his eyes, something Max had never seen there before.

"You shut your damn mouth, Nash."

Nelson flinched. Behind him, his buddies began to laugh, prodding him, nudging Nash along. He recovered himself, got right into Terry's face.

"You've never had it in you to protect anyone."

The first punch was thrown almost before Max registered it. Then they were on the ground, flailing at each other, the crowd of students hooting and hollering. Only they soon grew silent. For it was obvious that this was no fair fight: Nash was quite clearly loosing, and badly. In horror, Max realized she was not watching Nelson Nash fighting Terry McGinnis. She was watching Nash being beaten bloody by Batman.

She moved to pull Terry off of the boy. Nelson's friends stepped in as well; she thought she would have to fight them off, but it soon became apparent that, like her, they were just trying to stop what had turned into a beating. But they couldn't; Terry was hitting Nash at will now. He was like another person.

Finally, school guards stepped in. They all managed to lift him off of a bloodied Nash and deposit him against the wall, where he curled up into a ball as the school nurse rushed to Nash's side, Principal Nakamura right behind her.


	33. Chapter 33

"Mr. McGinnis, do you have any idea what kind of position this puts the school in?"

Principal Nakamura had been yelling at him for at least half an hour now, a tirade rife with threats of academic discipline alternating with cajoling pleas for understanding. Somehow, the full weight of what he had done was only starting to hit Terry. He had fought Nash--no, more than that. He had beaten him severely. They'd had to call an ambulance, and Terry had overheard the nurse explaining the extent of the injuries to Nakamura: a broken jaw, fractured collarbone, possible injuries to internal organs....the litany seemed endless.

"McGinnis, I'm waiting for an answer..."

What answer could he give? Something in him had snapped. Nelson had said the thing that was running through his mind ever since he'd found DeeDee's message: he couldn't protect Dana. He couldn't protect anyone. She was destroying him from the inside out. His life, his future was being torn down, one brick at a time...

"Mr. McGinnis!"

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what happened to me."

Principal Nakamura was about to reply when there was a buzzing from his desk intercom. "Mary McGinnis is here to see you, sir."

He responded, the door opened, and his mother walked in. Terry had only come to school because of her absolute insistence, and now this happens.

"Mrs. McGinnis," Nakamura said. "I'm sorry to see you under such trying circumstances."

Terry looked at his mother. Her mascara had run from the tears in her eyes. For a long moment they looked at each other.

"Mom...I..."

"Terry...how could you do this?"

"I...I don't--"

She looked away and sat next to her son. "I'm sorry, too, Mr. Nakamura" she said. "He really fought this boy?"

Nakamura nodded. "Yes. As I told you on the phone, the extent of Mr. Nash's injuries is severe. We as a school have to worry about liability on the part of the Nash family. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what sort of resources they have available, if they choose to pursue legal action." He sat behind his desk. "And of course, there is the issue of the parental responsibility laws--"

"I'm well aware of those, Mr. Nakamura," she said, glaring at Terry.

The principal tented his fingertips. "I'm sure you are. Very well, then. I think I have little choice in the matter. For the remainder of the year, Mr. McGinnis is expelled. He will remain out of the public school system until at least next year, at which time his reinstatement will be considered. His graduation will subsequently be delayed until his completion of the proper academic program." He paused for a moment. "Furthermore, I am hereby revoking any letters of recommendation I was planning to offer to universities to which Mr. McGinnis was planning to apply, and I will make sure a record of this incident is included in the reports sent to any such institutions in the future."

Terry looked up at the principal. "But...but my application to Metropolis--"

"You should have thought of that before engaging in violence with Mr. Nash, shouldn't you?" he interrupted. "In the meantime, Mrs. McGinnis, you can take your son home. The school will consider whether to pursue criminal charges in this matter."

His mother rose. "Very well." Her voice held as little emotion as it had in the waiting room last night. "Come along, Terry."

This was happening too fast. He wasn't going to college? But... "Mom...please..."

"Terry, come along!"

She walked out of the room. He could feel another brick collapsing.


	34. Chapter 34

The bricks were cinder block, rough under Dana's fingertips despite the ancient semi gloss coating. She pushed at the brick, trying to find a weak spot. It had taken her an hour to cover the first wall, the one to the left of the door. The rear wall was longer.

It was a good thing, she thought, that DeeDee had left the light on. It would have been impossible to count each brick in the dark.

Dana heard the sound of a key in the door lock. She scrambled back to the sleeping bag. The door opened, and Dana rolled over as if just waking up.

"Hey, Miss Priss. Dinner time."

DeeDee dropped a paper sack beside her. She looked inside. A sprout sandwich and celery sticks this time. She was serious about the health thing.

Dana took out the sandwich. She was hungry. But she did not eat. She looked at DeeDee, leaning against the door.

DeeDee scowled. "C'mon, eat up. I don't got all day, chickadee."

"What did Terry do to you?"

"What?"

Dana had been staring at the sandwich. Now she looked up at her captor. "You said this was about Terry."

"It is."

"But why? What did he do to you?"

The clown girl was quiet for a moment. Then a smile spread across her face, very slowly.

"Oh, man. You really don't know, do you?" DeeDee began to laugh.

"Know what?" Dana said. DeeDee laughed harder. "What?"

"Man, that is rich. That is freakin'-A terriff. Your own boyfriend, and he's never told you. That is...too...much." She was doubled over now.

Dana felt a spurt of rage. "What is it?! What is so funny?"

DeeDee spun around, a gleam in her eye. She cupped Dana's chin, holding her face tight between her fingers. "What's so funny is, you're my pawn, and you don't even understand why. And I'm not going to tell you. All you need to understand is this: your precious boyfriend is the reason my sister is dead."

"Your sister?"

"That's right." She wasn't laughing now. "And I'm going to make him pay." She threw Dana to the floor, and locked the cage.

Dana rolled onto her side, gasping. "No. You're wrong."

DeeDee paused by the outer door. "What?"

"Terry wouldn't...he wouldn't let your sister die. He has a family himself."

DeeDee just stared at her.

"He loves his brother and his mother," Dana continued. She pulled herself upright, clinging to the fence. "They fight, but he loves them. When his father was killed, Terry was--he was just frantic." Her breathing slowed and she looked at DeeDee. "He wouldn't hurt your sister. He knows what it's like to lose someone like that."

"Does he, now?" DeeDee raised her eyebrow. "Well, let's find out how much he loves his mommy."

Before Dana could say anything, the door slammed shut and the light went off, leaving Dana alone with a growing sense of dread.


	35. Chapter 35

Terry had been on patrol for hours now, searching Gotham for a clue, a lead, anything. He had not eaten since this morning. Without school, there was nothing to stop him from searching.

He'd found nothing. No trace of DeeDee, no trace of Dana.

He needed to return home. Trying to find Dana when he was this exhausted did her no good. It was only the dread of going home that kept him out.

Getting out of the house had been an ugly scene; after meeting with the principal, Mary hadn't wanted to let him out of her sight. But all he could think about was DeeDee; without realizing it, he'd raised his voice and begun arguing with mom like he hadn't since...well, since right after the divorce. She'd been in tears as he slammed the door.

Terry sighed. _Nothing for it now._

He had long since figured out how to change out of the suit in the alley across from his mother's apartment. Pack slung over one arm, he was so tired he almost didn't notice the slightly open door until he was already through it. He stiffened, waiting at the door. There was a muffled noise inside, like someone struggling.

Terry went inside and felt a hideous sense of deja vu. Furniture was overturned, cushions sliced open and spilling their polyfiber guts. A sickening smiley face had been sprayed across the wall in dripping red. He remembered how his father's place had looked, after he'd been...

"Mom! Mom!?" he called out, fear rising in his gut.

An indistinct sound of panic came from the kitchen. Terry ran towards it. Inside, he found his mother tied to one of the kitchen chairs, mouth sealed with tape. A single bulb left burning in the overhead fixture cast her in dim shadow, lighting the piece of paper taped to her chest bearing another smiley face.

Something pulled at Terry's mind. He searched through the apartment, afraid DeeDee might still be lurking, waiting for him. But he found nothing. The rest of the house was trashed as well, but nobody was here. She was long gone.

Returning to his mother, he pulled the tape from her mouth. "Mom. Are you alright?" He got a knife from a drawer.

Mary McGinnis hung her head. "She said....she said you'd know why."

"Are you alright?" He cut the ropes binding her to the chair. "Mom, please. Tell me you're--"

"I'm alright!" she shouted. "I'm fine," she repeated, voice calmer. "It was...it was a girl...dressed up like...like..." She fell silent for a moment.

"Like who, Mom?" Terry asked after a moment.

She looked at him hard. "Like Raggedy Ann. In the stories I used read you." Mary shook her head. "I came home with some groceries after staying with Matt. I came in the back way, from the garage. It was only after I started putting the groceries away that I caught a glimpse of the living room. It looked the way it does now. And I knew something was wrong, and turned to the phone, and then..." She put her face in her hands. "I felt a knife at my throat, and she'd been waiting for me, she let me get in and find what she did, and then she forced me to sit in the chair, and--" Mary began to sob.

He crouched in front of her. "Mom, it's okay. It's over. She's gone now--"

Her voice suddenly rose. "It's not over, Terry! She did this because of you!" She was crying freely now. "She did it because of you, Terry. She said this was for you." She handed him the paper taped to her dress. He looked inside.

_Explain this one to her._

He looked back up to his mother.

"What is this about, Terry? Who's doing this to you?"

He was silent for several moments. "I...I don't know."

Almost imperceptibly, Mary began to shake her head. "I always could tell when you were lying. Ever since you were a little boy, I could tell."

"Mom, I--"

"You've been lying to me from the start about Mr. Wayne. I don't know what it is he has you doing, but I know it's no ordinary job. I think I knew from the first, but I didn't want to believe it. You seemed so happy."

"Mom, please..."

"But now..." She trailed off. "Terry, you've been kicked out of school. They've hurt your brother. They've hurt _me_. What is it you're involved in, Terry? Don't you care? Don't you care about us? About yourself?"

Terry tried to meet her gaze, and couldn't. At length, he hung his head. "I can't. I can't tell you, Mom. If I could, I swear..."

She was quiet for several moments. "Dana is part of this too, isn't she?"

At that Terry looked into her eyes. Eyes wet with tears. But she was no longer sobbing. "Mom, please...don't ask me that. Please...I just can't tell you."

Mary shook her head sadly. "Then get out."

Terry looked back at her.

"Just...get out, Terry. Don't come back. I can't...I can't have you living here like this. I can't take this any more."

"Mom, please--"

"Get out of my house!" she screamed. "Leave! Now!"

After a few moments, Terry rose to his feet. He backed away from the table. And then he turned and left the apartment, closing the door on the sound of his mother sobbing again.

* * *

The cage was exactly twelve paces long. Pacing back and forth, Dana had counted the last few times. She had little else to do.

There was no way out of this cell. She had tested every brick. She'd looked at every bolt on the mesh wall. Every brick was solid, every bolt was tight.

There was no way out.

Dana hugged herself. She needed to get out of here. This...woman. What she was doing to Terry. Dana could not stand it. Her pawn, DeeDee had called her. _She thinks this is all a game._

It wasn't a game. Last night, DeeDee had come in with a pair of shoes. Size eight and half, with a blue neon stripe. Dana remembered the day she and Terry had taken Matt to buy those shoes--a planned date that had turned into shopping for his brother when his mother had to work Saturday.

The shoes were stained with blood. "He'll never need them again," DeeDee said.

The more she thought of it, the sicker Dana felt. She didn't know what had happened between Terry and this person, didn't know what Terry had done, but she could not bring herself to believe Terry would let someone die. No matter how much he kept from her, she trusted him more than that. _He doesn't deserve this_, she thought. _I have to get out of here, help him, talk to him--_

DeeDee opened the door, a big smile on her face. She dangled a pair of handcuffs from her finger. "Wanna talk to Terry?"


	36. Chapter 36

"She actually threw you out?" Max asked.

"Yeah," Terry sighed. "I'm not sure I even blame her. She wanted an answer, and I couldn't give her one. How was I supposed to explain to my own mother about Batman?"

"And you're sure DeeDee is the one doing this?"

"There's no doubt. That message was written to me, not Batman. She knows, Max." He continued to pace Max's apartment like a caged animal. "She has Dana. She's doing this to hurt me. I just know it."

"Why's she so mad at you, anyway?" Max perched on the arm of her couch, watching him.

Terry sat on the couch, putting his face into his hands. "DeeDee's real name is Deidre, Deidre Dennis. She had an identical twin, Delia. They were both part of the Joker's gang when I fought him a year ago. They both went by the name DeeDee."

"She _had_ an identical twin?"

"Had. After the thing with the Joker, they were put in juvie. Deidre got into some kind of fight in there, and her parole was denied. Delia was released six months before her. But Delia hooked up with some of the other old Jokerz, and she was there when they held up a liquor store on the west side." He stopped.

After a long pause, Max prompted him. "And?"

"And Batman went in and knocked out the lights. He tried to subdue Delia and the two other Jokerz. But the guy behind the counter pulled his own gun and began firing in the dark." Terry rubbed his face. "It all happened so fast, I didn't know what was going on. The other Joker, Ghoul, returned fire. By the time the cops showed up, Delia and the store owner were dead, Ghoul and the owner's wife were injured, and there was nothing I could do."

He was silent for a while. "Mr. Wayne was so angry I thought he'd take away the suit. I wouldn't have blamed him. But he finally said I needed to keep working."

Max looked at him with sympathy. "Terry, it wasn't your fault."

"Does it really matter? People died because of me. Maybe...maybe if I hadn't been there, if I'd just left it to the cops..." He trailed off.

She reached out a hand to him. "Terry, feeling guilty isn't going to help anyone. You told me that yourself. You don't know what would have happened. Two people lived because of you. They might all have died without you."

He sat back on the couch. "Maybe. But I can't imagine any other reason DeeDee would be doing this. It's the only reason that makes sense."

"We need to find her, Terry. Whatever you did, you don't deserve this. Can't Mr. Wayne help?"

"I can't reach him. The nurses always say he's unavailable."

"Even if you--" She stopped short. "No. I guess you can't explain the situation to a nurse, can you."

"Not very well."

A shrill beeping cut through the silence. Max and Terry looked at each other. His cell phone. He picked it up, looking at the number.

"It's unlisted. But there's only a few people who know this number. Maybe it's..." He fumbled with the buttons. "Dana? Are you alright?" he said into the microphone.

"'Fraid not, loverboy," came a female voice that was not Dana's. A voice he recognized.

"DeeDee. What have you--?"

"Now, now, is that any way to talk to an old friend? We have so much to catch up on. You haven't even thanked me for paying a visit to your brother. How is little Matt, by the way?"

Terry flicked a glance at Max. She nodded, and turned to her laptop.

"You know how he is, DeeDee."

"Oh, yes. Double amputation. Such a shame. Hope he likes being a gimp..."

Terry shook with fury. "You miserable--"

"Hey now, keep talking that way, and you won't get to say 'hi' to your little girl toy."

His voice darkened. "What have you done with her?"

"She's okay...for now."

"I don't believe you."

"So turn on the videophone."

Terry pressed a key. The tiny screen flickered to life, and a fuzzy image filled it: a white, almost cherubic face, covered with a mop of matted orange hair. It grinned at him, a sickening smile. "Nice to see you, loverboy."

"Let me see her." Terry frowned into the phone's camera.

"Sure thing." The image on the screen blurred, and then Dana's face came into focus: a bruise over her right eye, a gag in her mouth, and her eyes moist. Moist, like when she'd walked into Geronimo's, only two nights ago.

A hand removed the gag from her mouth. She swallowed, as if her throat was dry. "Terry..."

"Dana...Dana, are you alright?"

"I'm...alright, but...Terry, please...she's--"

"Dana, look...just hold on...I'll get you out of this, I sw--"

The image blurred again; Terry could hear Dana's voice being muffled. Then DeeDee was on screen again. "I think that's enough. You want to see her again? Then show up at 11 o'clock tonight at Club Nytro. Got that?" She wasn't smiling anymore.

Terry looked at Max. She made a frantic keep-going gesture.

"DeeDee, wait--"

"Club Nytro at 11. And don't wear the suit." The screen went dead.

"Damn it!" He turned to Max. "Did you trace the signal?"

"Not enough time. I couldn't get a lock on the phone's locater. She's already off the net."

Terry threw the phone on the couch. "Great. That club is a Jokerz hangout."

"Terry, you can't go in there. It's gotta be a trap."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm Dana's only chance."

"Then I'm coming with." She closed her laptop as she stood.

"Max, no. You--"

Max spun, jabbing a finger at him. "No, _you_ listen, McGinnis. Dana is my friend, too. I'm not gonna let you walk in there without some sort of back up. I'm _in_ this thing."

Her Gayong belt lay on the back of the sofa. She picked it up, holding it out to him. "You think I don't understand by now how dangerous this is, Terry? I still want to be a part of it."

Terry paused for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth turned up. "Alright. So what's our plan?"


	37. Chapter 37

"Club Nytro at 11. And don't wear the suit."

DeeDee shut off the phone, setting it on the desk behind her. Dana struggled, arms cuffed to the cage door behind her. DeeDee unfastened the handcuffs, smiling. "Well, this should be a fun evening."

Dana pulled the gag from her mouth. Her voice was very quiet. "Terry doesn't deserve this."

DeeDee's face hardened. "Yes, he does."

Dana held her gaze. "No. You think you're the only person who lost someone they loved?"

DeeDee turned away. "His father was murdered," Dana continued. Resolve was growing in her voice. "By Jokerz just like you. Just because your sister is dead, it doesn't make you special."

DeeDee spun, grabbing Dana by the throat. "And what did his daddy do to him? Kill his mother right in front of him? Make him live on the street for years?" She backed Dana into the cage, throwing her to the ground. "Turn him over to an old witch who beat the shit out of him?"

She was kicking her now, her voice losing control. Dana rolled into a ball to shield herself. "You live in your mansion and you drive your cute little convertible and you think you have problems. But you don't. You don't know what it feels like. You can't begin to know." She picked up the bucket, held it over Dana. "You can't know what it feels like to lose the only person you could ever trust. That you ever loved."

_God, no,_ Dana thought, _not the--_

"That ever loved--"

"STOP!" Dana held her hand above herself, not daring to look.

DeeDee halted, stopped short like a dog reaching the end of its tether. The bucket clattered to the floor.

"No," she panted. "I'm not going to waste this on you."

Rolling over, Dana looked at her. DeeDee held still for a moment, her eyes focused on nothing. Then, abruptly, she turned on her heel.

The cage door slammed shut. "It's Terry I want." And she left the room.

Dana pulled herself up.

She looked at the bucket.

There was no way out of this cage.

She looked at the door.

She had tried everything.

Except...

She pulled the bucket to her and began working the metal handle off the rim.


	38. Chapter 38

Terry lingered on the corner, watching two Gotham City cops, who were watching the entrance to Club Nytro. Pounding music poured out of the entrance. A doorman with a foot high Mohawk and eyes genetically spliced to look like a cat watched the cops, oblivious to the noise. An air of contempt passed between them. They both knew the situation. The cops' body language said that they expected trouble inside; the doorman's said that if there is, we certainly don't need _you_. But the cops would go inside anyway. There was trouble here every night, and they both knew it.

A beeping came from Terry's pocket. He flipped open the phone. "See anything?"

"I see a girl wearing a dress made out of plastic wrap." Through the phone, Terry could hear a louder version of the same music across the street.

"Does she look like DeeDee?"

"Not like the pictures you showed me, no."

"Great," Terry sighed. "It's almost time for me to come in. Act like you don't know me. And be careful, Max."

"You too."

Terry hung up the phone. It hadn't been much of a plan. Max had gone in forty-five minutes earlier, done up in a minimal disguise: a hoodie to cover her hair, dark glasses, and without her habitual nose ring. They figured on scouting out the territory. But she hadn't seen anything.

The wisdom of bringing Max along escaped him now. She couldn't help spot DeeDee any better than he could alone. And she was a liability. But she had insisted on coming. And it somehow made him feel better to have her here.

Terry turned back to the club. Both the cops and the doorman were staring at him now, suspicious. He glanced at his wrist. Five 'til eleven. Time to go.

He walked across the street, pulling a credit token from his pocket.

* * *

DeeDee watched from the balcony as holographic digits, hovering over the crowd, ticked off the time. 22:58. Any minute now, and he'd be here. She focused through the smoke on the front door, the only door into the place except for the fire exits. She only needed to wait.

She thought idly about why she'd called him here. Vanity? Ego? It was a risk, exposing herself to him, but she was curious to see what he'd do. Curious to see how he felt. To see if it was really tearing him apart inside. The way she hoped.

Besides, the opportunity to make trouble for him here was almost unlimited. The cops ended up raiding this place every other night. And at least half the people here were current or former gang members--people who, like her, and unlike Terry, knew how to get out of here when the hammer came down. McGinnis was out of his element, coming here without the suit. There was no way this could end well for him.

She'd already spotted that black girl, Max, moving through the crowd on the main floor. She had a lot to learn about disguise, DeeDee thought contemptuously. Max never spotted her in the black wig, leather jacket, and cop's hat she wore, even when she'd walked right by her on the balcony earlier.

DeeDee hadn't counted on her showing up. But, come to think of it, it played into her plans beautifully. It gave her an idea for a new approach. Now she just had to wait for Terry to show up...

A new clutch of people drifted in, and then there he was: brown jacket, loose pants, and searching the crowd intently. DeeDee withdrew from the balcony's ledge. Time to put things into motion.

* * *

He walked into the mouth of the giant: a tremendous, impenetrable roar of noise, smoke, and moving people. Club Nytro was on Batman's regular patrol. Terry had never come here as himself. It wasn't even the sort of place he and Dana would--

Terry shut the thought out of his mind, not wanting to think about her, about what DeeDee might have done, about what his life had become in the last forty-eight hours. The fear would drown him if he let it, and he couldn't afford that. He needed to stay focused. _Dana's counting on you,_ he thought. _Keep it together_.

Terry moved through the crowd, focusing on faces. The bodies moved to a punishing beat, blaring from unseen speakers. Lights danced in a movement that was playful yet menacing: blue, then yellow, then red, then blue again. Holograms flickered on the dense smoke, from cigarettes or something else, Terry didn't want to know. It was nearly impossible to make anything out. But Terry had to. Somewhere, in here, was Deidre. Somewhere, in here, was his only link to Dana.

The music ebbed away, a leather-lunged disc jockey filling up the space in the sound. "Alright everyone, it's time for another shoutout! Let's hear it forrrr....Luuu-cinda!!"

Another voice took over the mike, that of a young girl. "Hey, yo, I'm here with my crew from the north side, where y'all at?" A spotlight shone on a group of people on the floor, who cheered and waved. "We come here to get it on, and I just wanna say...let's get this party staaarteddd!!" A cry went up from the throng, and a new thumping beat took over.

He bumped into a girl in a dress made of yellow plastic. Before he could speak, someone grabbed his arm. "Whaddya think you're doin', dreg?"

Terry spun to face the speaker: six feet and nine inches of muscle and snarl, topped with hair dyed to look like a cheetah. Terry raised his hands protectively. "Nothing. I just--"

"You want to start somethin'?"

"No, I don't, I'm only looking for--"

"Then beat it, dreg!" The punk gave him a rough shove. The girl in the plastic dress giggled.

Terry drifted away meekly, putting distance between him and the punk. His eyes probed through the darkness.

Where was DeeDee?

* * *

Max saw Terry enter, but did not go near him, even though she felt an urge to talk. After talking to him on the phone, an idea had occurred to her.

But it could wait. _No point in risking our cover_, she thought. Besides, now that he was here, she could take care of something that had been calling her for the last ten minutes.

The bathroom was tiny. It was also packed, filled with the scent of stale sweat, staler nicotine, and fresh human waste. A line of people filled the mirror with reflections of women brushing their hair, applying eye shadow, and reattaching earrings. With a sigh, Max pushed open the door of the only empty stall, dreading what she might find.

A few minutes later, she went to the mirror. Two girls stood facing each other, one applying lipstick to the other. A third, clad in a motorcycle jacket and a leather hat over jet black hair, lingered over the sink with a tube of mascara.

The girl applying lipstick to the other turned to Max. "Girlfriend, you got a bottle of that eyeliner you wearin'?"

Max shook her head. "I'm...not wearing any eyeliner."

The other girl shook her head. "Damn, gettin' so a girl don't even help a sister," she muttered under her breath.

Max turned to the mirror and put her hands under the stream of water. She raised the water to her face.

"Nice to help out a friend, huh?"

Her eyes popped open. In the mirror, Max saw the girl to her right, with the long hair, holding her mascara bottle to Max's throat. Only she could feel it against her throat, and she knew what it really was: sharpened steel.

DeeDee grabbed her from behind, forcing her left arm up but not moving the knife. "No sudden moves, sweetcakes. Just come with me. Don't want to keep Terry waiting." She pulled them out of the bathroom.

Max cried out. "Help! Help me, please!"

The girl who had been applying the lipstick turned an eye to her, then shook her head again. "You get what you give, sugar." She turned back to the other girl, stroking on eyeliner.


	39. Chapter 39

Was this some kind of trick?

It had been twenty minutes, and Terry was beginning to give up hope of finding DeeDee. He hadn't seen her anywhere, and had lost track of Max.

"Okay, you know what time it is at Club Nytro?" came the DJ's voice. "It's time for another shoutout..."

_Where could she be? What had she done to Dana?_ Terry thought.

"...this one is for Terry McGinnis!!"

The spotlight blinded him. Another voice, all too familiar, came over the sound system. "Hey, Terry..."

_It's her_, he thought. She's in the DJ booth. He turned, squinting through the light's glare, through the smoke, the mass of people now pointing, prodding, laughing at him.

"I know you're bummed that Dana couldn't be here..." DeeDee's voice took on a playful lilt. "But I've got another friend of yours with me...she wants to say hi."

Terry's blood ran cold. Max's voice came on, not afraid. "Everyone get out of here! She's got a b--" The sound of Max being muffled came. Then DeeDee's voice again: "Aww, isn't she a kick, everyone?" The crowd laughed. Terry kept searching. _Where is she? Where?_

"You know folks, Terry hasn't been having a very good few days...his little Dana might be leaving him soon..." Everyone groaned in mock pity. "...and Max here won't be in any shape to play. But I want to make sure he has a good time...."

He scanned the balcony. A figure in headphones, behind a bank of lights...and next to him, someone with bright orange hair....was it...

"So everyone, let's show Terry how we party at Club Nytro!!"

The crowd gave a deafening cheer. Straining over the noise, Terry spotted her, half in shadow next to the DJ's tiny booth, her arm around Max's neck. DeeDee gave him a bright smile and a wave. Terry watched her pull Max back as several kids crowded around him, offering sarcastic greetings.

Another song began pounding in the air. He had to get to DeeDee. He tried to move through the crowd. The faces around him held no pity, only a kind of cruel mockery. They pointed and laughed and moved their bodies to the thudding beat, heedless of the drama occurring in their midst. He struggled to reach the spiral staircase.

Meanwhile, Max struggled, pulling at the arm around her throat. She could feel the knife still at her back, ready to drive in. She cursed herself, wondering what had happened to all her training. But she hadn't yet progressed to the keris pentas--counterattacking someone with a knife. She had only watched _Cikgu_ Safiah demonstrate the maneuver. How had it worked?

DeeDee slipped, losing her balance. Max took her chance, planting her feet as she'd done so many times in class. She gripped DeeDee with the second tangkapan, flinging her aside. DeeDee quickly recovered, thrusting the knife at her. Max tried to block, felt something slice through her left bicep, and cried out in pain. There was blood everywhere, some people in the crowd gasped, and then Terry was there, reaching for DeeDee, but DeeDee slipped away, Terry right after her.

Time slowed down for Terry: it had only been a few moments since DeeDee had left the DJ's booth. The sound seemed to come in waves at him, a nearly physical presence. Abruptly, a singer's voice cut through the noise: a hard, clear voice, one filled with regret, sorrow, and blasted hopes.

_When I look back upon my life, it's always with a sense of shame..._

The kid with the cheetah hair got into his face. "Aw, what's the matter, did the little twip get his heart broken?" He made kissy noises at Terry.

"Get out of my face," Terry growled, trying to brush the punk aside. Where had DeeDee gone?

_...I've always been the one to blame..._

The punk grabbed a handful of Terry's shirt. Terry thought he caught a glimpse of her, moving through the crowd towards the back. "Hey, dreg, don't be talkin' to me like that..."

Pure rage seized his being. Terry drove a fist into the punk's mouth, and the punk's grip loosened as he staggered backwards.

As Terry dove forward through the crowd, he heard people gasp behind him. It dawned on Terry that he'd just broken the guy's teeth out, that the crowd must have been in shock from it, but there was no time to consider that--DeeDee was in front of him, only a few feet ahead now, he could almost reach her. She glanced back, saw him, and gave him a grin of pure wickedness.

He felt a hatred he'd never known before. He wanted to kill her. She knew what she was doing, why she was doing it, how much it was hurting him. Terry could see it in her grin -- she knew everything, and was taking exquisite pleasure from this, seeing him churn inside. She winked and pushed further into the crowd, towards the back door.

The music seemed louder than ever, a living force itself, weighing down his every move. Like a drop of ink in a glass of clear water, fights were breaking out around Terry, violence spreading from his initial attack. Other people pulled at him, trying to continue the fight he'd started, everything shaking like a sea of flesh in a storm. Ahead of him, DeeDee jumped onto a spiral staircase, heading back down towards the main floor. _She's mocking me_, Terry thought. She was playing with him, even here, even in this unholy cathedral, leading him on a wild chase to nowhere. With a great effort, Terry pulled himself towards the stairs, still two steps behind her, emerging just as she broke away into the crowd on the floor. The violence had broken out here as well. The music turned somber, quiet. As nothing had before, it seemed to speak for his very being. And still he chased her: Why wouldn't she stay still, why was she doing this to him, why wouldn't people just let him through...

_...Father, forgive me, I tried not to do it.._.

Terry began to despair of catching her. It was hopeless, hopeless like everything else in his rotten life. He was forever letting people down, forever failing them, he'd failed his father, his brother, his mother, Max, the old man, and now he was going to fail Dana as well...it was the story of his life. And he could do nothing to change it. He could feel his entire life collapsing in on him, right here, right now, in the middle of this goddamn club, among a mass of people who wouldn't even know the difference. Here, with a hundred angry mouths screaming and a hundred angry people flailing, he felt himself in hell. Terry began to cry out, begging people to get out of his way. He didn't know why this happening, what had he done to bring this upon himself, he could not understand.

With a final lunge, he pushed forward, and suddenly DeeDee was within his grasp; his fingers reached forward, brushed her shoulder, lost her for a moment, then made contact again. His fingers searched, found her neck, tightened around their mark. Their momentum carried them forward, carried them to the floor, and he was aware of no one, of nothing but the look of panic on her face...

Terry was unsure of what he was going to do, unsure whether he was going to strangle her or hold her or let her breathe. He was only sure of the guilt that was crushing him, and how deeply satisfying the power he held in his grasp was to him, how it seemed like the only release he had...

Only it was being taken away. Someone was prying his hand from her throat, pulling him off of her. Terry struggled, trying to get free from the two cops now upon him, the cops from outside, grabbing his arms, pinning them behind him. He saw the punk with the cheetah hair, his face a mass of blood. He saw DeeDee rise to her feet and move away, ignoring the protests of the cops. He lunged after her, and was restrained. He saw Max arrive, a few moments too late, blood running from under the hand she'd wrapped around her arm.

He saw that it was hopeless. She had beaten him once again.

The music thundered throughout Club Nytro. He could not get away from the sound. The voice finished its mournful aria: "It's a, it's a, it's a...it's a sin..."


	40. Chapter 40

"So you want to tell me what really happened here?" Detective Deleon stared at Terry, his arms folded. He never seemed to blink.

Resting against the police car, Terry attempted to match the detective's gaze. "I already told you everything that happened."

Detective Roberto Deleon projected an air of perfect concentration on his work. Someone who tolerated no deviation from how he thought things ought to be. Right now, he seemed to consider Terry a deviation.

"I thought we might start over with something like the truth this time." His voice was calm, patient, perfectly reasonable.

"It was the truth--"

"The hell it was. You're telling me you think this girl, out of the blue, took your girlfriend, and you have no idea why."

"That girl is a wanted criminal--"

"She's a criminal on parole. Deidre Dennis, tried and convicted for assault and destruction of property. Released last month, hasn't been checking in with her parole officer, yeah, she's wanted. We should have grabbed her. But that's an awfully big leap to kidnapping your girlfriend--"

"Dana. Her name is Dana."

"--your girlfriend Dana, for no reason at all. And you just happen to show up at this club, and what do you know, here she is. So you jump her."

"Are you even looking for Dana?" Terry's voice was hot.

"Sure. I pulled her case disk after talking to you at the hospital last night. It tells me all about her. Her family, friends...boyfriend. Just like any other missing kid." He paused. "Do you know the first person we look at in these cases?"

He glowered at Deleon. "Are you saying you think I'm the reason she's disappeared?"

"I'm saying I have no reason to think some parole violator did it out of the blue."

Terry shook his head. "I don't believe this. DeeDee called me and told me to meet her here. Don't you have a record of that?"

"We've looked that up." Deleon glanced at his handheld screen. "According to phone records, at 9:27, you received a call from an unknown phone." He looked back up. "It sounds to me like you might know where Ms. Tan is."

"That was DeeDee! She called me herself!"

"We don't have a record of the content. It's a violation of the Federal Privacy Act."

Terry looked away. After a minute, Deleon spoke again. "Tell me, Terry...is there anyone you still talk to who you met in juvenile detention?"

Terry looked up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Deleon shrugged. "Just wondering if this is your first encounter with Ms. Dennis."

"I told you, she has Dana. Why won't you believe me?"

"You keep saying she kidnapped your girlfriend. The question that comes to my mind is, why? Why would she abduct someone she never met? I need a motive. There's no reason for her to hurt Ms. Tan.

"But what if she wants to hurt someone close to the victim?" he continued. "DeeDee might kidnap the victim to hurt that person. And maybe she'd hurt other people close to that person, in order to hurt him." Deleon paused again. "Wasn't your brother attacked the other night?"

Terry felt as though he were deep into a game of chess. He selected his next words very carefully. "Why would DeeDee want to hurt me?"

Deleon fixed him with a look, the look of a snake contemplating its victim. "Maybe you can to explain it to me."

"Deleon." They both turned to see Commissioner Gordon. "Why are you questioning Terry?"

"When they went in the club, Officers Rodchenko and Barkley found Mr. McGinnis here in an altercation with someone he claims was Deidre Dennis." Deleon spoke to Gordon but kept his eyes on Terry. "He alleges that Ms. Dennis has abducted his girlfriend, Dana Tan. He was about to explain to me why she would do such a thing."

"I told you, I don't know why she's doing it."

"So you say."

"You going to take him in, Roberto?" Gordon spoke to him as though her patience was being strained.

He drew in a long breath through his nose. "The officers who pulled him off her can't swear what they were doing, the alleged victim ran off--"

"And you know the cells are already full tonight," she finished.

Deleon grunted his assent.

"Then why don't you go talk to the club owner? You can give a report to Philips--she's handling the Tan abduction. McGinnis, I'll talk to you for a minute."

Detective Deleon knew better than to question his superior in front of a civilian. He looked at Gordon for a moment, then stalked off. Terry looked to Barbara. She tilted her head towards her car.

Barbara sat next to Terry, pulling her door shut. "This is getting out of hand," she said.

"Tell me about it."

"I assume DeeDee was behind the attack on your mother as well."

"She's behind all of it. She called me here tonight."

Barbara nodded. "I got the DNA tests from the bodies pulled from the fire. Deidre Dennis wasn't among the victims."

"No kidding."

"There's more. I checked up on the survivors. They both were treated for severe smoke inhalation, but one of them was so bad, the doctors suspected she'd suffered brain damage. So once she was off of oxygen, they put her in the long term ward."

"So?"

"That's not the interesting part. One of the interns in the ward decided to study the case. He thought he recognized her condition, and did a tox screen on her blood. It came back as positive for Joker toxin."

Terry blinked. "Joker toxin? Then..."

"While he was at it," Barbara continued, "he decided to run a DNA workup on the woman. Her ID listed her as Hannah Quentin, but that turned out to be an alias. The DNA profile matched a known criminal: Harleen Quinzell."

Terry looked at her, not believing what he was hearing. "Harley Quinn. Great."

"_She_ was the Deeds' grandmother," Barbara said.

"I thought you told me she was dead!"

"I thought she was." Barbara massaged her forehead. "We all did. Apparently we were wrong."

Terry paused, thinking for a moment. "When all that happened with the Joker, his gang came after me at that club--after _me_, not Batman. But Chucko said they had orders to attack me, without knowing why. Joker must have kept my identity to himself. If they didn't know then, how could Deidre have found out?"

"Think about it, McGinnis. _Harley_ knew. She was there that night at Arkham."

"She knew about Tim Drake_,_" Terry protested.

"_And_ she knew about Bruce. It's been in the newspapers that you're the personal assistant of Bruce Wayne. If Harley told DeeDee what she knew, you think it would be that hard to connect the dots?"

Terry thought for a moment, and nodded slowly. "And DeeDee got away tonight. I don't know where she is."

"You're going to keep looking?"

"What choice do I have, Ms. Gordon? She has Dana."

"Terry, there's something else you should know. Deleon wants to catch Batman. The next time Batman is spotted by a patrol car, Deleon is ready to run a bust."

He looked at her, incredulous. "Why?"

She sighed. "You have to understand Deleon. He's the youngest officer to get promoted to detective in twenty years. He wants to prove himself. And he's very sure in his ideas of right and wrong. Roberto Deleon isn't a bad cop. Just an ambitious one. He's probably hoping for my job someday."

"Can't you tell him to lay off? He's under your command."

"He also has approval for this from the right hand of the mayor." She held up her hands. "Went over my head before I could stop him. Now I have to support him in this."

Terry shook his head. "I can't believe you're giving up like this."

An ambulance pulled into the street in front of them, yellow lights dancing their dance. Barbara watched as the EMT yanked some bit of medical apparatus from the back.

"Listen, McGinnis. Whatever I once was, I'm a cop now. That means it's my job to enforce the law. Doesn't matter if I like the law or not, it's what I do. And I knew that when I joined the force. And most days I'm okay with it. If I hadn't been okay with it, I would have done something else all this time.

"No matter how much this city needs a Batman," she continued, "you have to realize that what Bruce did, what I did, what you're doing now...it's breaking the law. I don't like what's going to happen if Deleon catches you--to me, to Bruce, or to you. But I uphold the same law he does. And if he's determined to catch you...I can't oppose him."

The EMT opened the other door of the ambulance and drew out a stretcher, talking to one of the beat cops. In the silence of the car, Terry watched their conversation play out in pantomime.

"So you're going to let him do this?"

Barbara nodded. "It's what my father would have done."

Her voice softened. "Terry, my advice to you is, don't let anyone see Batman for a while. Let us find Dana. If there are no Batman sightings, Deleon will have to lay off. Give it time."

"I'm sorry, Commissioner," Terry said, opening the car door, "I can't promise that."

* * *

"OW!"

"Hold still," the paramedic told Max, applying an insta-suture to her left arm.

"Just get it over with, will you?" she snapped.

Terry looked into the back of the ambulance. "How you doing?"

"I'll be fine, if this guy'd just finish."

"Almost done," the paramedic said. "A-a-a-nd...there. Not so bad, huh?"

"Yeah, for an appendectomy," Max muttered under her breath.

"Keep it out of water for a week, and it will heal up fine." He helped Max out of the ambulance.

She turned to the cop waiting next to the ambulance. "Can we get back in the club? I left my purse inside."

Terry raised an eyebrow. "Your purse...?"

"_Yes_, my purse," she repeated, giving Terry a warning look.

The cop looked quizzically. "Well..."

"Please?" Max batted her eyes demurely.

"Alright." He led them to the door. "Just don't take long, okay?"

"Sure thing."

Once inside, Max led the way to a garbage can. "Max, what are you doing? You don't..."

He trailed off as she pulled a small purse on a chain from the can. She turned to the officer watching from the door. "Thanks," she said, waving the purse. He gestured them outside.

Once beyond the police barricades, Terry turned to Max. "That's not your purse. You don't even carry one."

She smiled. "Wow, McGinnis, those detective skills really pay off." She began to look through it. "It's DeeDee's. When she was moving me up to the DJ booth, she dumped it with her wig."

"What? Let me see that," he said, grabbing the purse.

"Don't bother, there's nothing. Twenty creds and a pack of tissues. Not even an ID."

"Great. Then what good is it?"

"Actually, the good news is what's not in there: her cell phone."

"Why is that so good?"

"Because it means wherever it is, Dana's probably nearby."

Terry stopped. "Max, what are you talking about? I thought you couldn't trace her phone."

She kept walking. "I couldn't trace it because she shut it off."

"But if--"

Max turned to him. "Look, all phones relay a GPS locater beacon every five minutes so they can be traced in an emergency. But they only do it while they're turned on. Otherwise the battery would run out. It's how I traced Dana's cell last night."

"But you couldn't trace DeeDee's phone--"

"Because she shut it off before it sent out the beacon. Her call lasted exactly four minutes and forty-eight seconds."

He nodded. "So she knows about the beacon."

"Exactly."

"So what good does that do us? We can't trace it unless she leaves the phone on for more than five minutes."

"That's the good part. I was thinking while I was waiting for you to show up inside. There's another way we can trace the phone's location. Whenever the phone is turned on, it checks with the local cell towers to find which one is closest. Those handoff records are kept for forty-eight hours."

"So if we can read the records from the cell tower servers..."

"We can triangulate the position when it was turned on," she nodded.

He started down the alley where he'd parked his motorcycle. "Then let's get back to your apartment."

She shook her head. "It's not that simple, Terry. That stuff is protected by federal law. They've got elliptical curve encryption on the records. The toughest protection out there."

"You can't crack it with your computer?"

"My laptop was built for running spreadsheets and video games. You can't run the Indy 500 in a go-kart. Cracking that security takes real computing power. Mainframe power."

"Oh great. You know a supercomputer nobody's using?"

She gave him a significant look. "Actually, we do."

He paused for a moment. "No."

"Terry, come on! If the computer in that cave is half as powerful as you say it is, it'll take five minutes to break into the cell tower servers." He hesitated. "Terry, you saw what DeeDee was like tonight. She's not waiting around any longer. We've gotta find Dana _now_."

Terry stood another moment, then led the way to his cycle. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He handed her a helmet.

"What about your helmet?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter. When Wayne finds out I let you in the cave, he's gonna kill me."


	41. Chapter 41

_Nearly there_, Dana thought.

It had taken almost two hours to work the pins out of the hinges of the cage door. First she'd had to get the bucket handle free. Then figure out a way to bend it into a relatively straight shape.

That had taken almost an hour. Once that was done, the metal shaft made a serviceable tool for pushing out each pin. But the operation was rough. There were three hinges on the inward swinging cage door. They had not been oiled in years. Rust and corrosion kept a firm grip on each pin, and she had devoted precious minutes to working each loose. The first two were now free.

She had no way of knowing when DeeDee would return. If she came back and found Dana in the middle of this...Dana shuddered. After the last attack, she knew that girl was capable of doing anything.

She could not wait any longer for someone to rescue her.

The last pin would not budge. Biceps quaking, Dana shoved upward. The pin moved up with a shriek. She grabbed the pin and tugged it free. It clattered on the floor.

Panting, she realized her hand hurt. Turning it over, she found a wide gash across her palm. _Oh, well. Tetanus is the least of my worries right now._

She pulled the door inward. It was heavy, and she almost dropped it as it came free from the frame, but she managed to prop it against the back wall. She rushed to the outside door, grabbing the knob.

Locked.

Dana nearly wept in frustration. She braced her hand on the desk, afraid she would collapse. After all that work, she was still trapped, and DeeDee would come back and find her loose and do god only knew what...

She hung her head, eyes unfocused. And then they focused on a small object on the table.

DeeDee's cell phone.

She'd left it behind when she stormed out earlier. Dana snapped it open and dialed 911. She could it hear it ringing. _Come on, come on..._

Someone picked up at the other end. "9-1-1 dispatch, what is your emergency?"

_Thank god. _"Please help me, someone has kidnap--"

At that moment, the sound of someone working a key in the door came behind her.

_Oh god_, Dana thought. _Not now!_

"I'm sorry," the dispatcher said, "could you repeat that?"

Dana set the phone on desk, not sure what to do. _Hide_. She needed to hide. The sound of the phone would draw DeeDee, but where was there to hide in here?

"Hello? Could you please repeat your emergency?"

The key scrabbled in the lock. It wouldn't be long. Mind racing, Dana hid in the only place she could think of—behind the door.

"Could you please repeat your emergency?"

Time slowed. The door opened, blocking DeeDee from Dana's view, but in her heightened state it was if she could see DeeDee's movements: her surprise at the cage door, her rage as she turned to the squawking phone. Dana's hand closed around some unseen heavy object at her feet, muscles tensed.

"This is 911. Do you need emergency assistance?" The dispatcher's voice sounded annoyed.

The door pulled shut on the automatic closer. Dana registered the outrage on DeeDee's face in the moment before she hit her with the thing in her hand—a bottle of some sort of cleanser, left behind years ago. DeeDee staggered but did not fall; Dana pulled open the door and raced into the hallway. She heard the phone shatter as DeeDee flung it against the wall.

Where was she? Dana had never been outside the cage after she'd been brought in unconscious. The hallway was almost pitch black; hearing the door behind her, she turned towards the end of the hallway with a light and ran.

"Come back here!"

The hallway ended in some sort of bedsit: a small bed, a refrigerator, and some books. But where was the way out? A doorway near the back, that was good enough, she could hear DeeDee behind her, but if she was faster--

And then gravity seem to change; Dana felt herself pulled in the wrong direction, and belatedly realized that she had tripped over something, her feet had become tangled in an extension cord running across the floor. An arm wrapped around her throat, and just like that, her bid for freedom was over.

DeeDee flipped her over, her face filled with fury.

"Who did you call?"

Dana tried to still her shaky voice. "911. They'll be on their way."

Pulling them both to their feet, DeeDee locked her in a half nelson. "Then we're going to have to get ready for them, aren't we?" she snarled, frog-marching Dana out of the room.


	42. Chapter 42

Max looked around the space in amazement. "This is just...wow! I just don't believe it!"

"We don't have time for a guided tour, Max."

"I know, but...the Batcave. Wow!" She craned her head back, trying to see the ceiling. "I've tried imagining, but..."

"Come on, I only brought you here so you can run the Indy 500, remember?"

"Right." She looked at the massive computer terminal on the far wall. "Does that thing even have net access?"

Terry gave her a look. "Are you serious?"

Max moved over to it. "Geez. It's ancient. I've only read manuals on how to operate one."

"Max, don't tell me it's too old to hack into the tower servers."

She sat down and clicked a few keys experimentally. The huge screen sprung to life, and she smiled. "It'll do the job. Looks like Mr. Wayne already has the decryption software installed. I just have to tap into the cellular subnet..."

She worked for several minutes. A map of Gotham filled the screen, along with a window of numbers zipping by too fast for a human to read.

"There. It's cracking into the cell towers in parallel, searching for DeeDee's phone number. We'll know in a few minutes where she is in Gotham."

"If she's in Gotham."

"She'd better be. A global search will take days."

Red dots appeared on the screen, marking the locations of the many cellular towers.

"I saw you talking to Gordon," she said, not taking her eyes off the screen. She appeared to be reading the numbers as they rolled by. "What was that about?"

Terry sighed. "Things are even more complicated than I thought."

Max turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

He told her about Deleon.

"He's actually wants to arrest you? I thought the Gotham cops were on your side."

"Not all of them, apparently."

"But how are you--?" She was interrupted by a beeping noise from the computer. On the screen the numbers had stopped spinning. Four dots glowed green on the map.

"Alright, her phone was picked up by four towers on the south side." She zoomed the map in to closer focus. "And the only zone covered by all four is...this area along Richmond Avenue. Huh. My old neighborhood."

"You used to live on the south side?"

Max nodded, "Yeah, before my father left. But there was something right in the middle of that block..." She snapped her fingers. "I know! The old Franklin House Hotel! It's been closed down since I was a kid. We weren't allowed near there."

"That's the place to look." He pulled on the mask. "I'm going out."

Max got up from the console, following him. "As Batman?"

"This is the best way."

"But Terry, the cops are looking for you...if you're spotted--"

She was interrupted by another sound from the computer. A message flashed on the screen: "INBOUND CONNECTION FROM TARGET DEVICE F63A:712B:3937. TRACE?"

She struck a key, sitting back down. "What's going on?" Terry asked.

"Someone turned on DeeDee's cell. Same location." She watched as information scrolled by. "They're dialing 911."

"It has to be Dana."

She nodded. "Let's listen in." She ran her fingers over the keyboard, and the thin sound of a phone conversation filled the cave.

_9-1-1 dispatch, what is your emergency?_

_Please help me, someone has kidnap--_

"That's Dana!" Terry said. "Dana, where are you?"

"She can't hear you, Terry. I'm trying to tie us into--"

On the phone there was the sound of a struggle, then a dial tone. The operator continued talking. _Hello? Could you please repeat your emergency?_

Max shut off the sound. "Something's happened, Terry. We need to get her."

He nodded. "They won't ignore a call like that. How long until the police can track down her location?"

"It was too short to track the beacon. They'll have to locate the call the same way we did. But they don't have to crack the system--the phone company will cooperate with the police. It'll be maybe thirty minutes to get a prowl car there."

He turned toward the door. "I can be there in fifteen."

"Terry, if the cops see you, they'll call Deleon."

Terry stopped for a moment, then shook his head. "I have to risk it, Max. I'm Dana's best chance." He took her arm. "Come on. You can't stay here."

Max fixed him with a look. "Wait a minute! You're gonna make me leave?"

"Max, I'll be in enough trouble with the old man for letting you down here."

"But I can trace you from here. I can warn you if the police are on to you." She got her pleading look on. "Come on, Terry..."

Terry paused. "Alright. But don't touch anything."


	43. Chapter 43

"Quit struggling!"

Dana managed to get a hand free and tried to lift herself from the chair. DeeDee grabbed the wrist and yanked it back down, clamping the handcuffs around her wrists with such a vengeful twist that Dana cried out. DeeDee stood up, panting, and smacked her hard across the face.

"I said quit it!"

Dana slumped in the chair, her arms now pinned behind her. She was panting as well. "Please stop. The cops will be here soon. Why don't you give up?"

"I told you," DeeDee answered, tying her ankles to the chair, "Terry will be looking for you, and I want to make sure he gets a nice surprise."

"What surprise?"

"You'll see. And he better do it fast." DeeDee smiled. "I rigged this whole place to go. Bomb on the gas main. He'll have about half an hour."

Dana's head was swimming. "Why are you doing all this?"

DeeDee seized her chin in her palm, fingers digging into her cheek. "Because, chickadee, it's more fun this way."

She held her face for a moment. Then DeeDee lifted a long shotgun towards Dana. "Now, this time, hold very, _very_ still..."


	44. Chapter 44

Officer Bettancourt was not in a good mood. They'd switched him to the night shift in one day, not leaving time to adjust to the schedule. He was tired, and the coffee only helped so much.

He yawned, turning the corner onto Richmond. His shift was almost over when the 911 dispatch had come in. He'd listened to the tape. A female voice, young. _Kidnapped_, it had almost said. The word rung in his ears.

The sergeant thought it was just a prank. "Some girls at a slumber party. But we're obligated to check it out," he sighed. "Go and tell 'em we'll arrest someone the next time they call." And he handed over the address.

But Bettancourt remembered the call yesterday morning, where a young girl had disappeared from her house. It was hard not to wonder about it. He had a little girl of his own.

The Franklin House Hotel loomed three blocks ahead, fifteen stories of broken windows and peeling paint. _Who would make a prank call from here?_ he thought to himself. He peered up at towards the roof--

He stopped. Had he imagined it? No, a dark shape had definitely crossed the street near roof level. A dark shape like a bat.

Officer Bettancourt recalled the item they'd shown at roll call. He punched a button on his radio. "Maude? Punch me through to Detective Deleon, will you?"

* * *

"So you think she's on the eleventh floor?" Max's voice came over the communication link.

Terry perched on the building's side. "The thermal scanner picked up two bodies in the building. One is upstairs, and it looks like she's moving around. The other one is seated on the eleventh. Want to guess which one is which?"

"Dana probably isn't moving around."

"Exactly."

"So what's the plan?"

"Get Dana out of there and call the cops to move on DeeDee. I'll be gone before they even show up."

"Be careful."

"I will be."

Terry crawled into the open window. It opened into an empty hallway. Cautiously, he moved down it to a door. He tried the doorknob. Unlocked. He pushed slowly inside. He focused in the darkness.

There, in a chair, was a sewing mannequin, wrapped in an electric blanket.

_Idiot_, Terry thought.

The kick came from behind him, a savage sideways kick that drove in between his ribs. He grunted, pivoting to one side as DeeDee came at him with her right fist, carried by her own momentum. Terry tried to dodge, but she was too fast. He was thrown against the chair, knocking the mannequin over.

He noticed a hole in the ceiling, and realized she must have been waiting for him, dropping through when the time came. But he scarcely had time to think: she was coming at him, flying though the air.

Terry snatched at the electric blanket, yanking the cord from the wall. He heard a sparking behind him and threw the blanket over DeeDee, tangling her in the folds. She landed against him with a thud. They rolled across the floor, still struggling, their blows blunted by the blanket, but Terry became aware of something outside of the fighting. The drapes were on fire, they'd been lit by the sparking electric outlet.

DeeDee seemed to notice too, for she suddenly sprang up and left the room. Terry staggered after her as she ran towards a flight of stairs.

* * *

Max watched the shaky image coming across the vidlink. "DeeDee's heading for the roof," she heard Terry say. "I'm following her."

"But Terry, where is Dana? Why didn't you see her on the thermal scanner?"

"How should I know? Maybe she isn't here. But I can't let DeeDee get away."

"I know, but--"

Max's attention was drawn to a flashing window on the screen before her. The police scanner had picked up a report. She opened the audio feed.

"--nits, attention all units. 817 in progress at Franklin Hotel on Richmond. Officer Bettancourt spotted Batman at scene. Prepare to mobilize Deleon's unit..."

Max pressed the talkback key. "Terry, the cops are onto you. You've gotta--"

As she spoke the words, her vidlink screen cut to static. She spoke into the mike again. "Terry! Terry?"


	45. Chapter 45

Terry burst out of the door onto the roof and stopped. There was no one there.

"You son of a bitch!"

A sudden movement caught his eye. He felt a weight landing on his spine, then a blinding pain that went through every limb and bounced back into his core, and then he was lying on the ground.

"What's the matter? Can't move?"

Terry squeezed his eyes, trying to fight through the pain. She'd electrocuted him. She must have been waiting above the door, jumped him when he came through. Grabbed a power cable from a transformer. The suit could handle a lot of things, but ten thousand watts of 60 Hertz AC was a bit much.

Words flickered at the edge of his vision. _CRITICAL FAILURE: ALL SYSTEMS RESTARTING._

Great. She'd shorted out the computer. Nothing would work until it finished restarting. He could hardly move.

DeeDee dropped the sparking cable next to him. "Yeah, I thought frying the suit would slow you down." Her movements were casual, unhurried. She circled him, rubbing blood from the cut on her cheek on the back of her hand. "Wanted to make sure you were moving nice and slow before we finish this..."

She took hold of the ears on his suit and lifted him, driving her knee into his stomach. He doubled over in pain. "I put a bomb on the gas main downstairs. We've got about ten minutes till this place goes." Terry groped, trying to get his arms under him, scarcely aware of her words. "That's plenty of time for us."

He squinted at the diagnostic display in his visor. _REPAIRING....12% COMPLETED_.

DeeDee climbed onto his back, wrapping her legs around him. "So tell me how it feels, Terry," she said, her head next to him. "How does it feel to loose everything?" DeeDee began to breathe into his ear, a hushed, conspiratorial whisper. "Your brother will never walk again. And I've got your little Dana. You should have heard her scream, Terry..."

A primal rage filled him. With a sound close to a roar, he lifted up, flinging her off his back. His muscles shrieked in protest. Succumbing to agony, he collapsed once again.

She landed on her back, looking up at him. That leering grin spread across her face. "Yeah...it feels pretty bad, doesn't it?"

Terry could feel the anger consuming him, the same rage he'd felt at the club. He hated her. He wanted her dead.

His rage let him overpower the suit for a moment. He crawled onto her, wrapping his fingers around her throat. His thumbs dug into her windpipe, the flesh soft and tender. He marveled how good it felt.

She was struggling for air. In that moment Terry felt a pleasure unlike any other. He had her in his grasp. Her life beat right under his fingers, and all the pain, every crying nerve, every crumbling brick, every thing that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, was there with him, clamping his fingers tighter.

It was a moment before he realized she was speaking.

"...knew I...could...take it...all away...from you..."

Her voice came out in a rasp. He looked from his hands and focused on her face. Her eyes shone with a pleasure he could barely name. They locked on to him, wide, blue, deep.

"...do...it, Terry...finish...what you...started..." He realized she wasn't struggling this time. She just watched him, eyes calm.

Her throat moved under his hands. "Finish...me..."

A stillness came over Terry. Somewhere at the edge of his perception, he could hear a small steady note playing...a rational voice, a voice of reason. It was quiet, but what that note carried was plain. A sense of horror at what he was doing. He held Deidre's life in his hands, and he didn't want it there.

The note grew louder, more resonant, more resolved. He remembered fighting Nash earlier that day, how good it had felt reducing him to a quivering mass. It was only afterwards, as he tried to explain what he'd done to Mom, that the disgust with himself came.

_My god. No._

Right now he felt only the pleasure. But he knew the disgust was there, waiting.

His fingers loosened their grip. He watched her eyes widen in surprise. He realized he was breathing heavily himself.

Taking his hands from her throat, he grabbed a handful of her hair. "Where's Dana?"

She was still gasping. "Down--downstairs..."

Terry let her go, rolling off of her. She put a hand to her throat. "What are you--?"

"The cops will be here soon," he said. "You can explain it all to them."

"You're...you're walking away?"

"I'm sorry about Delia." He turned away. "But I'm not like you. I don't want revenge. I just want Dana safe."

He was almost to the door when her voice came from behind him.

"Sorry? You think you can just say _sorry_?"

Her last word was punctuated with a burst of pain. Lights flashed, he stumbled, and then could barely focus on her, swinging a length of pipe.

"You asshole! Don't walk away without finishing it!"

Terry thought he would pass out from the pain. Instead he found himself focusing on the display: _24% COMPLETED_.

"You started it, you son of a bitch. You started it when you let Delia die." With every phrase, the pipe crashed into him, harder with each blow. "The only person I ever had. The only person who gave a toss for me...who I grew up with...who lived through it all with me...she's dead because of you!"

Out of breath, she stopped. The silence was deafening. Then came Terry's voice, wheezy and distant.

"Didn't...mean...for her...to die..."

DeeDee stood watching him. "The guy pulled...the gun...before I could...stop him..." With evident pain, he rolled on to his side.

"Deidre...I am sorry...I didn't...want anyone...to die."

The pipe clattered as it dropped from her hand. "Do you think that matters to me?" she said softly.

Terry collapsed on to his back. Gently, she straddled him, kneeling over his stomach. "She was the one who figured out about you. I got held in juvie for three extra months because some bitch jumped me. But Delia got out early."

As she spoke, her voice grew distant, foggy with reminiscence. "She'd been thinking about you. She wondered why Joker was so interested in you. Why he told us to jump you at that club. She figured maybe because he knew something about you that he never told us." She shook her head sadly. "She always was smarter than me."

Her voice started to crack. "So she started following you. Thought maybe she could blackmail you or something. And she started hanging out with Ghoul again, to get some contacts. And Ghoul decided to hold up that damn store, and...and...and damn it, now she's gone."

Pain throbbed in his head. The display flashed in his visor: _52% COMPLETED._

"You don't know what it was like," DeeDee continued. "You have no idea what it was like, growing up with dad. He shot mom, and he took us. He used to put us on the street...and we were twins, and...guys would get ideas...and dad said fine, as long as they paid extra, and we'd have to--have to--"

She shuddered. Her eyes were red now. "They finally put us with Nana Harley. But all she ever did was tell us how wicked we were. What horrible things he'd made us into. Like it was our fault. And whenever we said anything wrong...she'd throw the good book in our face. Threaten to separate us." She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her right hand. "Why did she have to say that? I couldn't let her do that. Delia was the only one I had. The only one I ever had."

She took her hand away. Where her hand and the tears had wiped away the white makeup, Terry could see the face underneath. Without the makeup, naked but for her anguish, she was beautiful.

DeeDee paused, becoming aware again of where she was. She grabbed at his mask, pulling the cowl off his head. "Delia kept a journal about all the things she'd figured out about you. And when I found it after I got out...after she was dead...I followed you. Saw the life you have."

The cowl came free, and she drew the knife from her boot. "I thought about how unfair it was, for you to have a family and a girlfriend and a future. And I wouldn't have anything. I wanted to take it all away from you, Terry. I wanted you to hurt. Hurt like I do." She put the knife to his throat. "I wanted you dead!"

They stared at each other, their faces both naked, both exposed. In the distance, they could hear approaching sirens, but silence crackled between them. Finally, Terry spoke.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

She looked at him, wordless. His voice was impossibly tired. "You did it, Deidre. I have nothing now. No home. No future." He shut his eyes. "I've got nothing left. You got what you wanted."

He felt her move the tip of the knife under his chin. "It would be so easy." She dragged it along the tender flesh of his throat, moving with sensuality, never breaking the skin. "I could shove this in, and it would all be over. It would be _so_ easy."

Terry held his eyes shut, waiting. The blade pulled away.

"But it won't make any difference, will it?" He opened his eyes. "I thought taking all that stuff away...I thought it would make me feel better. But it didn't. I just feel...nothing."

He looked into her eyes, and they were empty with defeat.

"All I want is my sister back."

The silence stretched out for minutes, broken only by the sound of an approaching police chopper. At length, she turned to look at the door.

"The cops will be here soon."

"What are we going to do, DeeDee?"

She looked back down at him. She seemed to be reaching a decision.

DeeDee set the knife down and pulled the cowl back over his head. "Come on, Terry," she said, her voice gentle. She put an arm around his shoulder, drawing him to his feet.

He could barely walk. The suit was still repairing itself, and his movements where clumsy. The display flickered at the corner of his eye. _78% COMPLETED_.

"I figured you'd kill me. After all I did to you, I thought I'd be dead, and you'd search for Dana." She was walking them toward the edge of the roof. He was so weak he couldn't resist her. "So I booby trapped her room. As soon as someone opens the door...boom, she'll be dead."

They stopped at the low wall separating them from a fifteen floor drop. She turned to face him, her back to the open sky. "You'll have to hurry, Terry. There's only couple minutes until the bomb goes off."

Walking to the ledge had exhausted him. He panted, looking at her. "Why are you helping me?"

She bit her lip, her crying eyes happy, her smile suddenly bright. "I'm not."

Someone opened the roof door behind him, and in that same moment she put his hands on her shoulders. She backed away, drawing him forward.

"No...no, don't...please don't!!...NO!"

Terry tried to stop her. What was she doing? He heard several people on the roof behind him. The helicopter blades were almost deafening.

"NO!" DeeDee screamed. She fell backwards over the edge of the roof.

Terry lunged for her, ready to fly, but the suit wouldn't respond. She pulled her hand free from his grasp. For a moment she seemed to hang in midair, giving him that awful, hateful smile one final time. And then Terry watched, helpless, as she plummeted fifteen stories to the ground below.

"Police! Freeze!!"

Terry turned to find Detective Deleon and half a dozen Gotham City cops surrounding him, guns drawn.


	46. Chapter 46

_No_, Terry thought.

"My god, he pushed her," one of the cops said.

_No_, he thought again. _She tricked them. Made it look like I...I... Her final trap._

He raised his hands. "This isn't what it looks like..."

Deleon held the gun steady. "Not the first time I've heard that line from someone in your position. But you know what? It usually turns out to be exactly what it looks like."

"You don't understand..."

"I understand as much as I need to," Deleon said, his voice steady against the hovering police copter. "You're wanted as an accomplice to the death of Delia Dennis. And if I'm not mistaken, that was Ms. Dennis' sister, so you are now a suspect in her death as well."

"I didn't--"

"You are a vigilante, outside of police control," he continued, voice growing louder. "You have been involved in more criminal incidents than I can even count. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner you're off the streets, the better. So you will lie down, on the ground, right now, and allow yourself to be placed under arrest."

"There is someone--"

"Lie down!!"

Terry glanced at the display in his visor, still ticking away. _85% COMPLETED._ Was anything working yet? No way to tell. He stared at Deleon, and realized there was no placating this man. He couldn't get away. He couldn't talk his way out of this.

There was, Terry realized, nothing left to do.

"I said, lie down!" Deleon repeated.

"Alright. I'll give myself up. But first, you have to listen to me."

"We are past the point of talking."

"Listen to me. There is someone trapped downstairs. You have to find her--"

"We already have people sweeping the building. They'll find anybody still here."

"You don't understand. The room is a trap...if you open the door--"

"You let us worry about that. You just lie down on the ground. Now!"

"You have to--"

"Do it!"

"Listen to me! There's a bom--"

His words were cut off by a sound like thunder. The shock wave moved outward, driving the helicopter away. Deleon was nearly thrown to the ground as sound crackled through his earpiece radio. "Detective Deleon! There's something in the basement--"

Deleon recovered his feet, looking around him. He interrupted the radio. "Never mind that, Bellowes. We've just lost Batman. Start searching, now!"

* * *

Terry clung to the underside of the ledge, knowing he could not remain here for long. It had been a risk, using the camouflage skin. He wasn't sure the suit had recovered enough to use it. But the distraction had given him the chance to activate it, and he'd gone over the side of the building, clinging to the wall with the suit.

But he couldn't stay here for long: the field transducer powering the camo would overheat in three minutes, and start generating toxic gas.

He could still hear voices overhead. "Get the chopper to use the UV scanner. He can't have gotten far," came Deleon's voice. A broad circle of blue light appeared against the side of the building from the helicopter, moving towards him.

Terry looked around. A window was open ten feet away. He jumped for it, pulling himself inside just before the light passed over him.

He was in a small office, desk overturned. He moved to the door, peering out. No one was outside. Terry moved down the corridor.

A flashlight shined on him. Terry froze.

"What is it?" came a voice in the direction of the flashlight.

"Thought I saw something," said another.

Terry breathed a sigh of relief. The camo was still working.

"Aw, there's nothing there," said the first voice, "see?" Another flashlight swept back down the corridor.

Suddenly, a tone sounded in Terry's ear. _CAMO SHUT DOWN IN 3 SECS_, flashed in his visor. _No, no, no_, he thought, _it's shutting off early_...

The light swept over him, and suddenly he was solid in the flashlight's beam. The holder gave an outraged cry. Terry ran down the hall, diving into another room, and shut the door. "Open up in there!" came the voice outside.

Terry looked around the room. It was another abandoned office, even smaller than the first one he'd entered. Without a window.

He was trapped.


	47. Chapter 47

The explosion startled Dana. She had rested for a moment, taking a break from her struggle to get free of the chair, impossible though she knew it to be. The handcuffs pinned her hands low behind her. Her ankles were tied to the chair's legs, scant inches above the ground; with effort she could brush the floor with the toes of her bare feet, but no more.

She was tired of being in this position. The cuffs pulled her shoulders back uncomfortably, and her left thigh was starting to cramp.

In a burst of frustration, she thrashed in the chair, rage at her helplessness momentarily converted into pointless motion. Dana threw herself back and forth, and the gun's cold barrel dug into her throat as she bounced around. What was going on? Why would anyone do this? What had she ever--

Her thoughts stopped cold as the momentum tilted her back a little too far. A pure, numbing panic filled her: she could feel the chair tipping over backwards, see the length of cord tied to the shotgun trigger go taut.

_ohgodohjesuspleasenogodplease..._

Dana shoved her weight forward, willing her inertia to change direction. For a long heartbeat the chair seemed to waiver, then slowly tipped forward, and the front legs landed with a muffled thud. Dana let out a long breath.

It was, Dana had to admit, almost admirable in its simplicity. The butt of the long barrelled old-fashioned shotgun was wedged into the chair base, between her legs. The other end shoved under her jaw, held in place by a length of coat hanger wire that went around her neck. And the cord, now hanging limp, ran from the trigger to the handle of the door in front of her, the only door into the tiny room. _Terry will be looking for me. Or someone. And whoever it is will pull open the door, and...and..._

With an effort she willed herself to stop that thought. Thinking it made the nausea swell inside her, and tape sealed her mouth. She could not afford to be sick.

She was past the point where fear meant anything. Fear had swollen until it seemed to fill every cubic inch of her mind, a state that made her almost numb. Nothing could save her. Terry, her father, all of it...it would soon be over. There was no point in even hoping anymore...

And then she heard a sound outside the door.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

And then the sound of a door being opened. She held her breath, waiting for it.

But she could see the door handle in the dim light, and it did not move. There was the sound of a door opening, held open, and then allowed to close. Then another door opening.

And just like that, she realized that the fear could grow still larger. Someone was in the hallway, looking for her.

Someone outside was opening doors.

_This is it,_ she thought. _I'm going to die._

* * *

"This is the police! Open this door!"

Terry was frantic. There was nothing in this office, nothing but a ruined desk, empty, not even a chair to go with it. Dana was somewhere in this building, it was going to blow soon, and here he was, trapped in a room with the cops about to break in...

Abruptly, _SATCOM REPAIRED_ blinked in Terry's visor.

"_*brrgzztthh*_rry! Terry!! Are you there?! Answer me!"

"Max?"

"Terry! What's going on? You've been off the grid for ten minutes!"

"No time to explain. Max--"

"You've gotta get out of that place, Terry. Half the GPD must be there."

"Tell me something I don't know! Max, I'm trapped. Top floor, inner office--"

"Already on it. I can track you on the GPS now. Hang on a second..."

The door began to buckle on its hinges. "Max!!"

"There's a ventilation duct running along the back wall, left corner. Is there an opening?"

"Not yet." Terry raised an arm.

* * *

Outside the room, Deleon heard a small explosion. "Get in there!!" he shouted. Two men using a portable battering ram ran towards the door one last time. Wood splintered, making a shrieking sound.

Two cops on either side of the door went in, weapons drawn. "Freeze!"

Silence.

"Detective, come look at this."

Deleon entered. One cop was pointing at a section of wall where a gaping hole now stood, exposing the insides of a ventilation shaft. He swore, looking at the officers looking to him for direction.

"Detective?" He almost jumped at the voice in his earpiece.

"What?"

"We've found the source of that explosion, sir. Looks like someone set off a bomb downstairs."

The men around him looked at each other with concern. "How bad is it?" Deleon asked.

"I wouldn't want to be here ten minutes from now, sir."

Deleon hesitated only a moment. "All units clear the building. We're getting out of here now."


	48. Chapter 48

Officer Bettancourt swept his light across the corridor. He had heard the explosions earlier. This place was going to go.

But that girl. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Deleon had all those cops chasing Batman upstairs. Nobody was down here. Nobody was thinking about the girl.

If she was here, they'd find her upstairs. But no one thought to check the basement. So he'd come down and found an old kitchen, a big one. He'd been ordered out, but it wouldn't take long to check this place out.

He opened a door and his light moved over the stenciled numbers on doors. Refrigerators, eight units in all.

Well, it would only take a minute, right? Think of the girl. He reached for the handle of the first fridge. "Hello? Anyone in here?"

* * *

Terry squeezed through the shaft. "So how did you know about this?"

"I hacked into the Hall of Records while you were off the grid. Downloaded the blueprints. Take the next passage to the north."

"Where are you taking me?"

"I was thinking while you were out of contact. I think I know why you couldn't find Dana on the thermo-scan."

"Yeah? Why?"

"Think about it. She's gotta be someplace that blocks her thermal signature. Someplace with lots of insulation. Sound like anything?"

He thought for a moment. "A refrigerator."

"Exactly. There's an old restaurant in that building. The kitchen is in the basement."

"Max, DeeDee told me the room is rigged as a trap. I have to get there before the cops."

"The main ventilation shaft is just ahead of you. Take it all the way to the bottom and go through the first passage to the west. It feeds the refrigeration units."

* * *

"Bettancourt!" Deleon's voice barked through the radio in his ear. "You find anything yet?"

"No, sir. There's nothing down here. But I've still got three--"

"Give it up and get out of there. This place is coming down."

"Yes, sir."

Bettancourt paused. He needed to get out of there. But there were only three more doors. Surely it wouldn't take long...

He grabbed the handle of unit six.

* * *

Terry shoved aside another condenser. The refrigerator was empty. "Not here either," he said. "Max, we're running out of time."

"You've still got five more to go. Can't that suit pick her up somehow?"

"With what? The insulation blocks the thermal scanner." He slid further along the shaft.

"There's other ways of finding people, you know. Didn't you learn anything in Biochem?"

"I'm failing that course, remember? You're the one who's getting an A. Why don't you come up with something?!"

"Well, what about light? X-rays? Sense of smell? Humans leave all kinds of traces."

"Wait a minute..." He placed the tip of his finger up to a vent. "Not this one..." Terry moved to the next shaft.

"What are you doing?" Max asked.

"Directional sonic detector. I should be able to hear her heartbeat..."

He suddenly heard a loud thumping in his earphone. "There!" Terry shoved the metal coils aside.

* * *

Dana dared not make a sound. She couldn't speak, couldn't explain her situation. Any noise would draw the attention of whoever was outside. And he'd open the door, and then... No. She would be quiet as a mouse.

But it made no difference. She could hear him trying each door one by one, moving down the hallway. Any second now...

She had not cried during this entire ordeal. Not once since DeeDee had taken her. But now she could feel hot tears running down her cheeks onto her taped mouth.

The handle of the door began to move. The shotgun dug into her throat. The cord connecting to the trigger pulled taut.

Dana squeezed her eyes shut. Unbidden, her throat made a small, plaintive whimper.

And then she heard a noise behind her, a wrenching of metal; then the whisper of a blade slicing through the air; then the door creaking open. And after a moment, she realized what she hadn't heard: the sound of gunfire, the final thing she thought she would ever hear.

Dana opened her eyes. In the doorway, a surprised cop held open the door. From the door handle hung a length of severed cord. In the wall by the door was lodged some sort of flying blade. And next to her stood...Batman?

The officer in the doorway looked as dazed as she felt. "Batman?!" he stammered. "F-freeze!!"

He went for his gun, but before he got it out Batman had covered the space, fist flying. The cop slumped to the floor.

"Sorry, pal, but the GPD doesn't seem to be on my side today."

Batman turned to her, carefully pulling the shotgun from under her head. He ripped off the tape. "Da-- Ms. Tan. Are you alright?"

"Al-alright enough. Thank god, I was almost...I was...oh, Jesus..." She shook herself in revulsion. "I...I heard an explosion--"

"We have to get you out of here. This place is going to go." He freed her from the chair. "Come on."

Batman picked up the unconscious body of officer Bettancourt. They moved into the dark hallway, Batman leading them up a flight of stairs.

Dana was still in shock. She was actually going to get out of this. She was going to survive. Batman had saved her. How he'd found her, she neither knew nor cared. She only felt a tremendous joy at having survived. All they had to do was get out of this building and--

The sound was deafening, a shock wave of heat and pressure and light that scooped her off her feet and threw her against the wall. Then pain rammed into her like a truck, radiated through her body, pain unlike any she had ever known.

"Dana!"

Slipping from the shoals of consciousness, Dana was aware of a curious fantasy. She heard someone cry out her name, and recognized it as Terry's. She felt someone sweep her up, and realized the arms were those of Terry McGinnis. It was, she reflected, comforting to have him there. And then she was sinking down, down, down into the dark...


	49. Chapter 49

"C'mon, c'mon, get out of there," Deleon barked, hurrying officers off the front steps of the building. "Hurry it up, will you?!" Most of the police clustered around the dozen or so cars spread in front, making room for the fire department vehicles now arriving.

Another explosion sounded from deep inside the building. Two more cops ran out the door, Deleon pushing them to safety. "Is that everyone?" he asked the last straggler.

"Everyone from our floor. What about the Batman?"

"Choppers didn't seem him leave. If he's still in there, he's on his own."

"But he said someone else was trapped inside--"

"He was just stalling. There wasn't anyone else."

"But, sir--"

"Damn it, that roof is going to cave in, and I'm not leaving any officers inside. Not on my bust! Batman was alone. Now move!!"

"Deleon!"

He turned and saw Commissioner Gordon standing by the police barricades, her car door open behind her. He moved towards her.

"Sir, I--"

"Is everyone out of there?" she asked.

"I haven't confirmed it yet." He turned to a lieutenant. "Martin! Do a head count."

"Yes, sir."

Deleon turned back to Gordon. She nodded. "What about civilians?"

"Nobody saw Batman leave. He must be in there somewhere. And the Dennis girl is around the corner," he said, tilting his head. "The ME is going to need a putty knife."

"Anybody else?"

"The sweep didn't turn up anyone. I don't think there was anyone--"

"What about Dana Tan?"

"The missing girl? Why would she be in there?"

"Deleon, didn't you hear the report?"

"I...I was setting up this bust."

"The voice on the 911 call matched the description of the Tan woman. You didn't have anyone in the sweep looking for her?"

Before he could respond, the officer Deleon had spoken to before interrupted. "Sir! Bettancourt isn't here!"

Gordon responded first. "What? Where was he?"

"Checking the basement, sir. No one has heard him on radio for the last five minutes."

"Then he's still in there," Deleon cursed. "I'll get him." He turned to run inside.

Gordon reached for him. "Deleon, wait!"

"Look!" another officer said. Deleon and Gordon turned to look where he was pointing.

The crowd of police gasped. Batman stumbled out of the building, carrying...carrying what? They could not be sure.

"Stop him!" Deleon ordered, drawing his weapon. Several officers did the same. Batman moved out of the shadows, limping slightly, huddling in defense. The barrels of eighteen weapons held him in their sights.

"If he doesn't surrender, prepare to shoot on my signal," Deleon said over the noise. "One...two..."

"Hold your fire," came Gordon's voice. "Let him come forward." Answering to years of training, the assembled police obeyed the voice of their senior officer.

As Batman moved into the light, the parcels he was carrying became clear. People. Two people, both unconscious. Silently, he laid the two bodies on the street.

"That's Bettancourt," someone said. "He got Frank out of there."

"These people are hurt," Batman said over the din. His voice seemed as shaky as his walk. "They need medical attention."

"We'll see that they get it," Deleon said. "But you're still wanted for arrest, Batman."

"You'll forgive me if I refuse your hospitality," Batman replied. His wings spread out behind him, and he was gone.

"Hey--"

"Let it go, Deleon," Gordon cut him off. "Get the paramedics in here," she called over her shoulder.

"What's the matter with you?" Deleon said. "You let him get away!"

"You remember why we're here, Detective? We serve and protect. I'm not going to let you put innocent people in the line of fire." She turned away from him. "Hurry up with that stretcher!"


	50. Chapter 50

Terry had been silent on the radio all the way back to Wayne Manor. For once, Max kept her mouth shut. She didn't prod him with the questions she wanted to ask. She just watched his progress on the GPS, a green dot on a neon map, lights on the screen before her. Eventually they'd merged with the house.

But he didn't come down to the cave. Somehow, Max knew where she'd find him. Up on the roof, high on a ledge, just like always. The suit let him get to these places so easily.

She, on the other hand, had to crawl out onto the ledge, maintaining her balance. When she finally got to him, he didn't even register her presence.

He always looked so strange, she thought, without the mask. With the mask and suit on, he was Batman. Without either, he was Terry McGinnis. But with the suit and no mask, he was...something else. Caught in between.

For a long time, they did not speak. His gaze seemed far away, out across the malevolent, glimmering nightscape of Gotham. She looked at the same skyline. Thousands of twinkling lights, blue and green and yellow, winking on and off. For each one, another home. Another life. Another story.

Dots on a neon map. Lights on a screen.

His quiet voice broke the silence.

"So it's over."

"Yeah. I guess it is." She paused. "At least it turned out okay in the end."

At that, his eyes drifted to hers. "Did it really?"

"Well, Dana is safe," she said. Terry said nothing. "And DeeDee is dead," she continued, groping for words. "You won't have to worry about her anymore. She can't expose you."

"Maybe exposure wouldn't be so bad. Maybe I want to be free of all of this. Of living two lives. Of having the people closest to me hurt, because of who I am and what I do. I'm tired, Max. Tired of lying."

She turned to watch his face, impassive, still staring at Gotham. "Then why not stop?"

"Because tonight I realized...I can't. Only Batman could have saved Dana tonight. You saw what happened. She'd be dead if I hadn't stopped DeeDee. She needed Batman, just like everyone else in this city needs a Batman. I can't...I can't run out on that."

He sighed. "But I also can't put the people close to me at risk like this anymore. That's the other thing I realized tonight. I finally understand what the old man meant when he said Batman can't afford relationships. It's not just that I have to hide the truth from Mom, from Matt...from Dana. It's that people close to me...they're a way to get to me. They're the ones at risk. It doesn't matter if they know or not."

"DeeDee is gone, Terry. She can't reveal you now--"

"We don't know whether she told anyone else. Even if she didn't, it doesn't matter. Don't you get it? She figured it out. You figured it out. Someone will always figure it out. And it won't take long to see how to attack me."

Somehow his voice had grown more quiet with each word. "I couldn't bear it if something else happened to her, Max."

They were quiet for a long time. "You asked me before if I loved her. I didn't know then."

"And now?"

He said nothing.

She watched him in silence until she could stand it no longer. "So what are you going to do?"

"The only thing I can."


	51. Chapter 51

In the bed, Dana seemed frail, almost doll like. The bed was propped up, and her hospital gown looked too thin to be comfortable. She was vulnerable, shivering, and as beautiful as Terry had ever seen her. The bruises took nothing away from it.

It was visiting hours, and he had come to say to her what needed to be said. Perhaps it was cruel to do it while she was still recovering. But it would be cruel whenever he did it. Best to get it over with.

This is what he said to himself as he entered her room.

She was quiet, speaking at first in single words. Her eyes were haunted, looking from under hair that spilled over her forehead. It was as if she knew. Not why everything had happened, but what he intended to do.

She asked why. Why had it happened, why had DeeDee chosen her, why didn't Terry ever mention her, and it was clear. She didn't know the secret. DeeDee had never revealed it. Terry wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

He couldn't tell her the truth. Not after all that had happened to him.

Happened to her. Because of him.

He could only tell her the thing he had decided to tell her.

So he told her. Dana tried to keep her tears from him, and failed. Her words, softer than he had ever heard them, were shards of glass that lodged inside him. And in that moment, Terry knew he loved her.

And when her words turned hard, and she sat forward and slapped him across the face with more force than her words, he knew it even more.

And then she snatched up the nurse's call button, punching it for all it was worth, and his pleas sounded stupid even to his own ears as she shrieked for the nurse to make him leave, to never let him in her room again, fighting for control before the sobbing conquered her completely, and he left her room, avoiding the glare of her father in the hall outside.

The last brick was gone.

* * *

Outside, he found Max waiting for him. She had insisted on coming along, but he hadn't wanted her there. That was even more true now.

But she didn't talk. He walked past her. She followed without a word.

They stopped on one of the foot bridges over the Gotham River. The moon was waning, but he could still see the water moving below.

She leaned over the railing with him. The water was the only sound for a long time.

"So I told her good-bye."

Max nodded.

"She didn't take it well."

"I'm sure she didn't."

Leaves floated on the surface of the water under them.

"Did I do the right thing, Max?"

She was silent for a while. "I think you did what you thought was the right thing. Beyond that..."

She trailed off, appearing to search for words and failing. At length, she simply gave an elaborate shrug.

"Not the answer I was hoping for."

"Terry...whatever answer I could give...would it really make it any easier?"

"Probably not."

Terry sighed.

"The only thing DeeDee didn't take from me...and I'm giving it away."

The leaves drifted from one place to another, at the mercy of the current. Their movement was peaceful.

They stayed there for a long time. Finally, Max took hold of his arm.

"Come on, Terry. Let's go home."

He looked at her, into her eyes, wide, bottomless, something in them beyond compassion, beyond ache. He looked at her arm, the white cotton of the bandage bright in the moonlight.

Gently, he pulled his arm free and turned away.

"What home?"

And Max watched him walk into the night, the darkness gathering around him.

THE END

Author's Note:

Just as any story begins at the beginning, any story ends at the end.

But endings are illusions too. Things continue to happen. What you've read here is merely a convenient place to pause.

This is not truly the end--I imagine more things will happen in the life of Terry McGinnis--but that will be in another story I'm starting soon. (Or perhaps one you will write.)

For now I thank everyone who has been reading, and everyone who sent your kind words (I read them all, even if I didn't always respond). You've made it worth writing.

I hope to see you again soon.


End file.
